The God of Death: Deathsworn
by I Am Atrocity
Summary: The God of Death 2. It has been years since Harry Potter killed Voldemort and brought peace to Britain. But fate isn't finished with him. A new war is brewing and danger is closing in on all sides. Fire and blood are the ink in which the next chapter in Harry's tale will be written as he fights not just for his life but the lives of those he loves. H/Hr, BCjr./LE, NT/GR.
1. Gawain Robards' Bad Day

**Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable properties found in this work of non-profit fiction. I do not own Harry Potter or any other recognizable properties.  
**

 **A/N, PLEASE READ: All right brothers and sisters, I'm back! Now, I know I left things hanging pretty badly the last time we met, but I am here to make it right and hopefully deliver you another great story for your enjoyment. With this story I'm going to try to keep the chapters flowing like an episode of a TV show. So, lengths may vary but I'll try to keep them stuffed with action and dialogue as is fitting to that format and the story. I also plan to try to recapture some of the darkness of the early parts of PART ONE and tone down the more fluffy and angsty stuff, from Harry, from the second half. There will still be some fluff here and there but I want to move this story forward and not dwell on it too much.**

 **At the end of each chapter I will make a note of the 'cast' introduced in said chapter by order of appearance, so as to remind people of who each character is.**

 **Now, without further ado, I welcome you to:**

 **THE GOD OF DEATH, PART II:**

 **DEATHSWORN**

" _ **...Throw roses into the abyss and speak: 'Here are my thanks to the monster who did not succeed in swallowing me alive'." -Friedrich Nietzsche**_

" _ **One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." - Carl Jung**_

 **I. Gawain Robards' Bad Day**

Gawain Robards was not having a good day, that much alone was a certainty.

It had all started normally enough. He woke up after a night of drinking stout beers and cheap whiskey, accompanied by even cheaper cigarettes, and dragged himself to the shower to wash away the dingy feeling that usually came with such a short but heavy sleep. Following this, he had ventured to the kitchen of his Welsh country house outside of his hometown of Swansea, idly running his fingers over the pictures hanging in the hall, as he always did, and set the kettle to a boil while lighting up another cigarette and taking a long, glorious drag, exhaling with a soft sigh.

When the kettle started to scream he added the tea leaves and let it steep for a few minutes before pouring it into a mug. He added nothing to it, as it already had rosemary mixed in with the tea leaves and that was all he needed.

He had finished his tea, washed the cup and flooed to the Ministry as he always did, arriving a bit later than everyone else, as was his habit, and started making his way through the still-crowded Atrium.

To his right, a fireplace flared and out came a young witch who, rather gracefully, didn't even try to have footing and landed flat on her face.

He paused and shook his head at the clumsy girl. Had it not been for her clothes though, he doubted he would have even recognized her; it also helped though that she worked in the same Department as him.

"You really need to learn to walk, mate," he told the girl in his dry Welsh lilt as he tugged her upright. "Jaysus, Tonks, you look like shit."

Nymphadora Tonks did indeed look terrible. Her hair, usually a bright pink and short or shoulder length and purple, was now long and a sort of black/brown mixture that looked like it had been thought about in regards to a brush but little more than that thought was ever done about it. Needless to say, she looked a mess.

Now, this happened to the girl once a week, so it came as no surprise to Robards to see her this way, but that didn't stop him from worrying. He liked Tonks; she was about the only friend he had left in the Auror Office these days.

It had been worse after that whole Harry Potter fiasco two years ago. The girl had been positively devastated by the sentencing of her friend. Robards himself still felt a bit ill when thinking about it; it was not his finest hour. And that set him apart from the rest of the Auror Office, who were all on the side of Crouch, Scrimgeour and Savage on this one.

Tonks grumbled something rather unflattering under her breath at his comments but straightened up and righted herself. Robards waved his wand at her briefly and her hair became a bit less of a rat's nest, but she barely noticed, trudging on toward the lift without so much as a by-your-leave.

Gawain stuffed his wand away and followed after the young woman, shaking his head.

He stepped into the lift with her and told the attendant to take them to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Level Two.

"So, I take it you went and saw him again this morning?" he asked the downcast Auror at his side. Not that he needed and answer to the question; he already knew.

"Yeah," she answered softly, eyes directed at the floor.

"How is he?"

Tonks shrugged. "Same as usual. Just sits there, staring at the wall, doesn't talk, doesn't even look in my direction. Doesn't recognize me." The last word was spoken with so much sadness that it made Robards frown.

It was no secret in the Office that Tonks had bent a few rules and called in a few favors and gotten herself a pass to Azkaban. She went and visited Harry Potter every week, the same day and time, every time. Thursday, eight in the morning, before work, during the guard shift change. She had done so since the second week of his imprisonment.

Robards felt kind of bad for the girl. She had not been able to let go of her guilt at what had happened. She had been right there in the pit with him and the other Aurors on duty when Harry was sentenced in that farce of a trial. She had been right there and not been able to do anything. He also knew that she had been at the Malfoy Manor when they had stormed the place and taken Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. prisoner. Why she was there he didn't know and no information was to be found on the matter, but he had his theories.

It was the same, yet different with James and Sirius. They had been there too, but Tonks and them did not get along at all now; which was a switch because it used to be that Tonks looked up to her cousin and James, now there was naught but resentment between them. Gawain was a wee bit of a people-watcher when he had nothing to do and there were a lot of interesting things he had noticed about the people he worked with over the years.

The day didn't really seem to get any better or worse as he sat down at his desk and began flipping through the various case files that had found their way to his station since his last time being there the previous night. Nothing special or difficult. Just your run-of-the-mill petty crime and some lady who claimed that there were dark wizards performing a ritual in a cave near her home; something about seeing flashing lights coming from the cave at night. That might be something to look into later. He doubted that there was anything going on but well, this was his job. Whatever it was, he was duty-bound to at least give it a look.

At this point however, was when things decided to change for the worse.

He was idly reading over the statement given by the woman in the file when he heard his name being called.

He looked up from the file to see Savage standing at the corner of his desk, looking down at him with that smile that was so insincere that it was practically mocking.

"What do you want?" Gawain asked, looking back down at the case file in his hand.

"I need you to go to Azkaban," Savage answer in that strange accent of his; was it even English?

Robards glanced back up at the man and felt the urge to punch him in his perfectly groomed head. How the man managed to look so damned impeccable with that long hair and thick beard he had no idea. "Why? That's not my area."

Savage's smile became a smirk and he chuckled softly without opening his mouth. "We've apparently got some dead prisoners. Need you to go and take a look, see what caused it."

Robards scowled. "Not interested, mate."

Savage's smile turned almost feral, finally baring his teeth. "I think you will find it quite interesting when you hear who they are."

"Yeah? Who's that then?"

"Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr.," Savage answered in almost a whisper.

Robards' head snapped up so fast he felt and heard his neck crack. "Beg pardon?"

"You heard me," Savage said, still smiling. "Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. are both dead and I need you to go to Azkaban and investigate it. The Dementors are under strict orders not to touch them and they were two perfectly healthy young men, so I need to know what happened. And you are the lucky man who gets to do it. Also, there's no need to inform Mr. Crouch of this. He already knows."

Gawain rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. This was the last thing he needed.

Savage turned and walked away, but called back over his shoulder as he did, "And take Tonks with you."

Said girl's head snapped up at the sound of her name and looked over a few desks at Savage, then to Robards, who was still trying to stave off a headache.

She stood up from her own desk, tossing aside a case file and hurried over to his desk. She still looked a wreck, but better than earlier. Gawain sighed, knowing that that was all about to change.

"What's going on? Where are we going?" she asked.

Gawain looked up at her and sighed again. "Get your coat, Tonks. We're going to Azkaban."

Tonks frowned and tilted her head. "Why?"

Gawain stood and tossed his own case file back on his desk. "Couple of dead prisoners," he answered her, grabbing his long trench coat off the back of his chair. He reached into the pocket and pulled out his cigarettes, stuffing one between his lips and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. Ministry rules be damned, he needed a smoke and couldn't wait to get outside to do it; besides, he wasn't the only one that did it inside, but the others had fancy offices they could hide in.

"Isn't that a job for the Azkaban guards?" Tonks asked, turning to go get her own coat and tripping over her own feet. Luckily she caught herself on Williamson's desk before she could hit the floor for the second time since entering the building.

Gawain followed after her, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Normally, yes. But these are some high-profile inmates, so Savage is sending us. Probably because he doesn't like us or something." The sarcasm in his voice was palpable.

Tonks pulled on her own long coat, hers black in color and ending just above her knees. It also wasn't as loose-fitting as Gawain's was.

"Who is it?" she asked as they started walking toward the lift.

Gawain held up a finger as he took a drag of his cigarette. "I'll tell you when there are less ears. Don't want this getting out yet."

Tonks nodded, her expression growing worried. Who could have died that was so high profile that they needed to keep it quiet? Her first thoughts were of Harry, but she shook her head. Couldn't be him, she had just seen him that morning and he looked the same as he always did – not good, but not near death either.

They stepped into the lift and Gawain told the attendant to take them to Level Six, using Auror authorization to get them there first rather have to wait for the stops of the others in the lift with them. They got a few dirty looks but Gawain just gave them a two-finger salute and ignored them.

They left the lift and made their way down to the Portkey Office. They were met with the sight of Percy Weasley, the latest Head of Department for Magical Transportation, severely berating some poor girl who looked close to tears. What the dressing down was for was anyone's guess but Tonks was in no mood to even see the loathsome redhead and shouted out to him.

"Oi, Weasley, quite harassing the staff and get your scrawny arse over here. We need a Portkey."

Percy looked at her with a look that could very well result in Tonks' death; or at least could if he had that sort of power, which he didn't, so it was actually quite ineffective.

While he was glaring at Tonks, the girl he had been yelling at took the opportunity to slip away quietly before anyone else noticed her.

"Auror Tonks, I am the Head of the Department for Magical Transportation," Percy reminded them unnecessarily, "and I will not be spoken to like that. If you require a Portkey, then find someone in here to do it for you."

Gawain looked around the room and then back at Percy. "Well, looks like that's you, mate. You're the only one in the room not doing anything, so hows about making yourself useful and getting us a Portkey to Azkaban, yeah?"

Percy face was as red as his hair, which was an impressive feat in Gawain's book as he actually hadn't been aware that that was possible without some skills like Tonks'.

With his long face, Tonks thought it made him look like some sort of strange carrot, if carrots were red anyway.

Tonks idly wondered if she could make him madder and see if he turned purple, more like an eggplant. She didn't like eggplants. Or carrots for that matter.

Finally, without saying anything, Percy turned on his heel and marched through the office. "Johns, get these two Aurors a Portkey!" Gawain flicked the butt of his cigarette at his back, but the younger man didn't even notice at it bounced harmlessly off and landed on the floor.

Percy exited the room via a side door after pawning the job off on someone else.

They were approached by a dark-skinned woman of obvious African descent. She didn't look happy but she smiled at them anyway. "What can I help you with?"

Gawain decided to take point on this one and addressed the girl. "As your useless Head of Department failed to properly inform you, we need a Portkey to Azkaban, with priority."

The woman nodded and motioned for them to follow her.

She led them to a back room where an assortment of a random items were housed on shelves that were arranged much like a library's. She went to a shelf near the back of the room and reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a length of knotted rope. She checked a small tag that was connected to the rope and then brought it back to them.

Gawain took the rope from her and read the tag himself, muttering a short pass-code under his breath, too quiet for either of the girls to hear - though Johns had her own codeword, which she had already used on it. Suddenly the paper was filled with writing telling him that this was a multi-use, two-way portkey and it also told him the activation code.

He nodded in thanks to the woman who smiled and left them to it, returning to her station.

Gawain held out the rope for Tonks to grab onto and drew his wand with the other hand. Tonks wrapped her fingers around the rope and nodded that she was ready. Gawain tapped the Portkey and whispered the code and suddenly they were almost literally ripped out of their current setting and thrown into another.

The climate of Azkaban Island was always stormy. High waves rolled in from a roiling sea to crash violently against the craggy shoreline. Dark clouds blotted the sun and cast the entire area into a sort of half-darkness. Rain fell intermittently, on and off again, while cold wind buffeted the island for all that it was worth.

All in all it was a dreary place. Probably the most uninviting location on the entire planet. Of course, Gawain couldn't really say that with authority, having only been in his native Wales, England, Ireland, Scotland, France and a couple of times to the United States, but out of all of that, this was by far the worst. London was probably the second worst. He hated London. He worked there. And he worked with arseholes. When he thought of work, he thought of those arseholes; when he thought of those arseholes, he thought of work; when he thought of work, he thought of London; when he thought of London, he thought of work and when he thought of work, he thought of those arseholes; so when he thought of London, he thought of those arseholes. It was a vicious cycle. So, yes, Azkaban was the worst place, but London came in at a close second.

Gawain landed fairly steadily and stayed on his feet, but Tonks, being the clumsy girl that she is, found herself flat on her back on the hard, wet rocks that made up the isle that Caer Azkaban had been built on. She groaned and pulled herself back to her feet, waving her wand over herself to get the damp out of her pants and coat.

Robards stuffed the portkey into the pocket of his coat and began walking toward the entrance to the imposing tower that was Azkaban prison.

Tonks trotted up beside him. "So, are you gonna tell me why we're here now?"

Gawain pulled up short and sighed, fishing another cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it. "I suppose I'll have to. You'll find out in a moment anyway and its probably best you aren't walking when I tell you." Tonks scowled at this but motioned for him to go on. Robards exhaled a lung-full of smoke. "Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. were found dead in their cells this morning. Probably not long after you left here, if I had to wager a guess."

Tonks, for her part. Looked stricken. Her eyes had gone wide and her mouth hung slightly open. She wasn't breathing.

Before Gawain could become too worried about her lack of breath, she inhaled sharply. "What?" her voice came out as a small whisper and Gawain almost didn't hear it over the crashing of the waves on the rocks behind them. "No..." she shook her head. "No, no, no, no. I was just here. He was fine. Harry can't be dead. He was fine, I was just here, I saw him. He was fine." She kept repeating this, as if doing so would make it true.

It was like the world had just come crashing down around her and all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat and her own whispered words as Robards' words reverberated in her head. Without her knowing, her knees had gone weak and she sank in a sitting position on the rocks, the wind whipping her hair into a mess and the salt spray of the ocean coated her skin. She noticed none of it.

Robards sighed and took a drag of his cigarette before crouching down in front of the younger Auror and held out the smoke to her. She didn't even acknowledge it, still muttering to herself. Grimacing, he put the butt of the cigarette between her lips and waited. It didn't take long before she was coughing violently after getting an unexpected lung-full of smoke and tar; and probably all kinds of other toxins that cigarette companies didn't tell you about; not that he cared, mind you.

The coughing fit was enough to pull her out of the shocked state that she had fallen into and now she just looked utterly broken.

"Stay with me, Tonks," Gawain coaxed, drawing her back to the moment. "We have a job to do, no matter how unpleasant it is. You can break down later, mate, but right now I need your head in the game."

Tonks nodded, her eyes a bit misty and she bit her lower lip as she nodded again, more firmly and climbed back to her feet.

Gawain nodded too and motion her to continue on the way to the entrance. He looked down at his cigarette and sighed, flicking it into a nearby puddle before turning to follow the now-miserable girl.

Tonks didn't say another word as she and Gawain entered the interior walls of Azkaban. They were met by a guard, who didn't look too happy to be having Aurors there to do their job for them, but he showed them the way to Harry and Barty's cells, where a couple more guards were inside taking photos of the bodies.

Without words, Tonks and Robards split up and went into separate cells. Gawain looked at the body of Barty Crouch Jr. and crouched down, looking him over.

Barty was laying face down on the floor, legs extended and slightly parted, arms resting bent at the elbows, hands extended upwards. He was laying with his head toward the door and his bare feet toward the opposite wall, a thin bedroll was in the corner, covered in a threadbare blanket. The man's hair was long and matted, knotted in some places and completely dirty. His facial hair had grown long and scruffy, as Azkaban inmates were not allowed grooming tools of any kind. His skin, once a clean pale hue, was ghostly white and almost translucent, and coated with a layer of grime. His nails were unevenly chewed, a habit that Gawain vaguely remembered the man indulging in at times.

There was no sign of foul play to suggest a non-natural cause of death, but that didn't rule out such means as poison or a Killing Curse. What made him suspicious was the almost perfect way the body was laid out, and the lack of any real expression on the face.

"Guard," he called out, and one of the guards outside poked his head in. "Have the bodies been moved at all since they were found?"

The man shook his head. "No, sir. We just took pictures of them for the records, as protocol dictates."

Gawain nodded. "Thank you." He reached into another pocket of his coat and pulled out a set of sterile rubber gloves. He pulled them on and then reached forward to brush Barty's hair out of the way of his face and neck. He scanned the revealed flesh for any signs of puncture or wounding but found none. Frowning, he gently turned Barty's head to the other side, noting absently how easy it was, given that by now _rigor mortis_ aught to be setting in. _Pallor mortis_ and _algor mortis_ were already in effect, as indicated by the even paler than normal skin and the coldness of the body.

He checked the opposite side of the neck and face and still found nothing that indicated foul play. He knew that he probably wouldn't find anything, but the Wizarding World didn't have a such thing as an autopsy, so whatever he put in the report would be marked as the official cause of death and he wanted to be thorough.

So, he levitated Barty up and began systematically checking over his entire body. He found no signs of injury or wounding. He ruled out choking, as there would have been signs in the facial and neck regions, and aside from obvious signs of starvation and malnutrition, there was nothing else wrong with the body.

As unlikely as it seemed, natural causes was only real explanation left to him. But something about that didn't seem right. He wasn't sure what it was but something was niggling at the back of his mind, something about how the body was positioned. It didn't make sense. Barty hadn't died in his sleep – his eyes were open and he wasn't even close to being in his bedroll – and he wasn't killed by an outside force. He had found no trace of poison during his scan of the body and it looked like Barty had just laid down on the floor and then just...died. No pain, no trauma, nothing. Just death.

He sighed and left the cell, indicating to the guard that he was finished. "Natural causes," was all he said to the man, who quickly made a note of it and then motioned to another guard to take the body away.

Gawain entered the neighboring cell to find Tonks sitting on the floor beside Harry's body, tears streaming down her face as she absently brushed the hair away from his face.

Harry was laying on his back, arms at his side in a relaxed pose, legs extended toward the back wall and head toward the door, just like Barty, in roughly the same spot in the room as Barty had been. His green eyes were open and half lidded and staring vacantly at the ceiling. Like Barty, also, his hair had grown long and was dirty, knotted and matted, his facial hair long and wild. Skin the same as Barty's had been; near translucent and cold as ice. It did not appear as though Tonks had even done anything more than sit there and look at him and move his hair.

"He's really gone," was all she said, not even looking up from the face of her dead friend as Gawain entered the cell and crouched beside the body.

"Tonks, we need to look him over," he said softly.

Tonks nodded but made no move to get up from her spot.

With a sigh, Gawain motioned a guard in and asked him to escort Tonks out of the cell and get her a cuppa, with a calming draught added in. The guard lifted Tonks up by the arms and began to pull her out of the cell, but she fought against his grip. "No, no. I'm not gonna just leave him here!"

"Tonks, if you aren't going to help me then I at least need you out of the way. You're in no condition for this," Robards told her firmly, pushing her toward the door, she tried to shove them both off but finally they managed to get her out the door of the cell. Another guard joined them and took over for him in escorting her out so that he could go back to do his job.

He knew that this was hard for Tonks. The woman came and visited Harry every week like clockwork. The only one of his friends who had done so. Of course, it helped that she was an Auror and enough people owed her favors in order for her to get a pass, and civilians weren't permitted to come to Azkaban without authorization from the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Minister himself, and there was no way that either of them were gonna let any of Harry's allies that close to him. Tonks had pulled a lot of strings to get that right and everyone knew it.

He suspected that it was these weekly visits that had made Savage decide to send her along. Almost as a punishment to the girl for being so loyal to Harry after so long. Sometimes, that bastard really lived up to his name.

It was at this moment that Gawain Robards was starting to think that he should have just stayed in bed – er, well, on the couch – that morning rather than come in to work.

He performed the same thorough inspection of Harry's body and found it just the same as Barty's had been. It looked like he was going to have to chalk this one up to natural causes as well.

It didn't make any sense whatsoever to him. How could two men, in neighboring cells, best friends no less, die at the same time with no signs of anything that might have caused it. Both looked relaxed and almost peaceful in death and both were positioned far too perfectly. There was something he was missing here but he just couldn't see it.

Were it not for the shitstorm it would cause without evidence to support the claim, he would say that one of the guards had just gone and ghosted the two and then staged the bodies. But, why leave the bodies in the middle of the floor rather than on the beds?

And it was that kind of thinking that made him just shake his head and forget the whole thing. He wasn't paid enough for this shit.

"Natural causes," he muttered to the guard as he left out and began retracing his steps back to the guard station near the entrance.

He found Tonks sitting in a chair, a steaming cup of tea clutched in her hands, looking as if she hadn't even taken a single sip. Her eyes were downcast and her lip was trembling. "It wasn't natural causes," she said as he approached her. "I know it wasn't. It was too perfect." She looked up at him, her eyes rimmed red from crying and the steel blue of her irises popping brilliantly in contrast. "How did both of them die at the same time with no markings?"

Gawain shrugged and took the cup from her hands. She didn't even try to stop him. He took a sip, feeling the effects of the calming draught seep into him. "An odd coincidence, I suppose."

"The Universe is rarely so lazy," Tonks muttered, shaking her head. "Harry used to say that. He was right. This was murder, I know it."

Gawain was inclined to agree with her, but the evidence wasn't there, and never would be. "There's no evidence to support that, mate. This is just one of those rare times where the Universe _was_ that lazy." He set the cup of tea down on a small table by the chair that Tonks was sitting in. "I'll need to inform the families."

Tonks stood up quickly. "I'll do it."

"No, you won't," Robards countered. "You are already all broken up over this. You shouldn't have even been here, but Savage is a right bastard and sick as fuck, so that couldn't be helped. But this is where I draw the line, Tonks. You are going home. The last thing I need is you getting Lily and Hermione worked up by telling them that it was murder."

Tonks' hair started to turn red as her temper flared. "You don't have the authority to send me home!"

"Actually, I do. As the Auror in charge of this case, I am ordering you off of it as soon as you leave here. Now, come on."

He started back toward the shoreline, taking the length of rope out of his coat pocket. Tonks stomped over and took hold of one end and Gawain activated the Portkey for the return trip. They reappeared in the middle of the Portkey Office and Tonks immediately stormed away from him.

He sighed and handed the Portkey to Johns, who came over after seeing them both appear. She took the rope and returned it to the storage room, making a note on a logbook of the use.

Gawain went back to the Auror Office and set about getting the address for Lily Potter – now going by Lily Evans – and Hermione Granger.

He looked around the room and spied James and Sirius talking at James' desk and stalked over to them.

"I reckon I could have slept with her, but we had a row, and, er...I said something about the Pope," Sirius was saying.

James shook his head. "That was a bit stupid, Sirius, you know she's Catholic."

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, I know she's Catholic, but I didn't know the Pope was."

James burst into laughter while Sirius just looked confused.

James laughter died out as Robards stopped in front of them. "Yes, need something, Gawain?"

Robards took out another smoke and lit it, blowing the smoke over the two men. "Just curious about what's so funny over here. Care to share the joke?" Neither looked too happy that he was still there. "Guess not. Well, I just thought you should know that your son, you know, the one you helped toss in Azkaban, is dead."

James blinked at that but didn't seem too upset by it. "How did he die?"

Gawain shrugged and exhaled more smoke. "Natural causes, from what I could tell. I'm on my way to inform the next of kin, and as you are technically still part of that denomination, I thought I should let you know. Well, now you know. Have a wonderful day, gentlemen." As he had done with Percy, he flicked the cigarette at them after taking another long drag.

With that, Gawain turned around and walked away. An intern handed him a file as was passing his desk and he thanked them, flipping it open to see the personal information of Lily Evans Potter and Hermione Jane Granger, including date of birth, place of birth, blood type, height and weight, hair color, eye color, any other physical distinguishing marks, and – most important to him at the moment – their current address of residence. Oddly enough, or not, all things considered, they were living at the same place. 21 Griffin Street, Godric's Hollow, Cornwall, England, United Kingdom.

He tossed the file on his desk and made for the Atrium. The file had had a photo of the house, so he would just apparate there rather than try to floo in.

He reached the designated Apparation Area in the Atrium and pictured the front lawn of the house, turning on the spot, and vanished.

He found himself standing on the sidewalk of a quaint village street, looking up at the exact house that had been pictured in the photo.

He ran a hand through his already messy honey-colored hair and resisted the urge to light up another cigarette.

Deciding to just get it over with, he walked up to the gate to the yard and stepped through. He made his way up to the door and took a steadying breath before knocking on the door three times with his knuckles.

He heard a voice shout out from inside and a moment later the door opened to reveal Hermione Granger holding a sleeping baby to her chest. Her face showed recognition as she saw him and she frowned. "Can I help you?"

Gawain sighed. "Hello, Ms. Granger, I am sorry to disturb you but my name is Gawain Robards, I'm an Auror."

She nodded. "I know who you are," she said stiffly. "I was there when you led the father of my child away in chains."

Robards had the grace to look guilty but he pressed on. "Yes. Harry is actually the reason I'm here. Could I come inside?"

Hermione appeared to think about it for a long moment before she nodded and stepped back to let him into the house. She led him into the drawing room, where there was a small cradle set up. She lowered the baby gently down into the cradle and then motioned for him to have a seat. "Would you like some tea, Auror Robards?"

Gawain shook his head. "No, thank you. Uh, is Ms. Evans here?" Hermione nodded. "Could you please fetch her? She's needed for this discussion."

Hermione frowned deeper but nodded and left the room. Gawain tapped his fingers on his leg, itching for a cigarette to the take the edge off of his nerves. But, he was in someone else's house and it would be rude to light up in there, especially with a baby in the house. So, smoking would have to wait until he was back outside.

Hermione returned a moment later with Lily in tow. The older woman looked at him distrustfully but said nothing. The two of them sat on a small sofa across from him. "What's this about?" Hermione asked.

Gawain ran his hand through his hair again. "There's no easy way to put this." He sighed. "At approximately ten o'clock this morning, Harry Potter was found dead in his cell. There were no signs of foul play or anything else to suggest that his death was anything but natural." That wasn't entirely true, but he wasn't going to say that.

Hermione had not heard anything beyond when he had said that Harry was dead. She went stiff and her eyes unfocused and she stopped breathing. Gawain was reminded rather strongly of Tonks when he had told her. He suspected that if Hermione had not already been seated, she would have simple sunk down to the ground as the other woman had, and he couldn't use a cigarette to snap her out of it either.

Lily was not much better, but at least she was still _there_. "You...you're sure?" she asked.

Gawain nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I saw the body and conducted the investigation. I looked him over myself."

Lily nodded grasping Hermione's hand; the girl didn't even notice. "Thank you, Mister Robards."

Gawain nodded and stood up. "I am sorry for your loss. I'll show myself out."

He walked out of the room and out the from door. As he was opening the gate, he heard an anguished cry, followed by the wailing of a baby.

He shook his head sadly and fished out another cigarette.

He was not having a good day.

 **XXXX**

Regulus Black circled the country house in the form of Rune the Raven, his keen eyes scanning the area for any sign of a threat. Finding none, he began his descent.

He shifted back into human form as he reached the ground and began walking up the path to the door without missing a stride, the tails of his long robes flaring lightly in the breeze, his shoulder-length hair mimicking the movement.

He knocked on the door slowly, three knocks, three sets.

He waited a moment, then did it a second time. Waited, and then a third time. Finally, after it became clear that he was not going to knock again, the door opened to reveal a tall, well-built man in a brown waistcoat and slacks. His brunette hair was cropped short and left uncombed and his beard was rather bushy.

"Hello, Reggie. Good o' you to join us," he greeted.

Regulus nodded as he stepped inside and the door was closed and locked behind him. "Evening, Tiberius. Are the others here?"

Tiberius nodded and motioned for Regulus to lead the way. "Jus' waitin' on you."

Regulus stopped in the parlour of the house and kicked a circular rug to the side, revealing a hidden trap door. He knelt down and opened it. He could hear the clink of bottles behind him and a moment later Tiberius came into the room with a bottle of Ogden's Best.

Together the two descended down into the dark stairway. Tiberius closed the door behind them, plunging them into darkness. Regulus had little trouble seeing though, thanks to his Animagus form's keen eyesight, and Tiberius knew these stairs like the back of his own hand and had walked them in the dark more times than he could count.

At the base of the stairs was a door, which Regulus knocked on, this time to the rhythm of 'shave and a haircut'. A moment later the door opened and the two men slipped inside.

The man who had answered the door was of average height with shoulder-length hair pulled back into a ponytail and a beard, shorter than Tiberius' and dressed in a simple black waistcoat and trousers. There was also another man in the room, standing beside a round table. This man was a bit shorter than the other man and was clean-shaven with short combed hair and a certain sense of mischief about him when he smiled.

"Malcolm, Fergus, good to see you," Regulus greeted the two.

"Yes," Fergus, the beardless man, replied just the barest hint of an Irish accent audible. "We were beginning to think something had happened to you."

Regulus shook his head. "No. I did a couple of extra passes over the area before landing. You can never too careful, these days."

"True enough, that," Tiberius said, placing the bottle of Firewhiskey down on the table and conjuring four glasses for them all. He began pouring the deep amber liquid into the glasses. "Well, we're all here now. Have a seat, yeah?" He dropped himself down into a chair and motioned to the others.

Regulus sat down in the seat to Tiberius' right, facing toward the door. Fergus sat to his right, directly across from Tiberius and Malcolm took the final seat across from Regulus.

"So, how did it go?" Fergus asked.

Regulus shrugged and sipped his whiskey. "Went off without a hitch."

"You are certain?" Malcolm asked, ignoring his whiskey. It wasn't that he didn't want it, he was Scottish, he loved whiskey – as if where he was from had something to do with that – but he was holding off until business had been covered.

Regulus nodded. "I oversaw the whole thing myself, even stayed behind, disguised as a guard to make sure it worked. By now, the entire Ministry will know that Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. are dead."

Tiberius drained his glass. "Well, cheers to that bit o' good news."

"Aye, _sl_ _á_ _inte_ ," Fergus intoned, sipping his own drink. "Then things can move ahead as planned?"

Regulus nodded. "Yes, everything is set, and I'll be off to Dartmoor within the hour."

Malcolm nodded and finally reached for his own glass. "Well then," he looked at Tiberius, who was pouring himself another glass. "I think a toast is called for, wouldn't you say so?"

"I'll drink to anythin', jus' show me the whiskey," the stout man responded with a grin.

The other three chuckled and raised their own glasses. "So, what shall we drink to, then?" Regulus asked.

"Well, seeing at we jus' killed two men, I think death seems appropriate, don' you?"

Malcolm nodded. "To death, then. May it never stop us."

"To death," they all intoned together, draining their glasses as one.

Miles away, two bodies laid on cold stones, dead to the world.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: All right, here we are, chapter one of the sequel to The God of Death. I know, this beginning seems like "Atrocity, what the hell are you doing man?" but bear with me guys, I know what I'm doing. Sort of.**

 **Anyway, here is the Dramatis Personae of the characters in this chapter, in order of appearance:**

 **Gawain Robards (Portrayed by Matt Ryan)**

 **Nymphadora Tonks (Portrayed by Natalia Tena)**

 **Sasha Savage (Portrayed by Caspar Crump)**

 **Percy Weasley (Portrayed by Chris Rankin)**

 **Sirius Black (Portrayed by Gary Oldman)**

 **James Potter (Portrayed by Adrian Rawlins)**

 **Hermione Granger (Portrayed by Emma Watson)**

 **Lily Evans Potter (Portrayed by Clara Paget)**

 **Regulus Black (Portrayed by James McAvoy)**

 **Tiberius McLaggen (Portrayed by Tom Hardy)**

 **Malcolm McGonagall (Portrayed by Toby Stephens)**

 **Fergus O'Malley (Portrayed by Andrew Scott)**

 **NOTE:**

 **Fergus is mentioned in HBP by Seamus, as his cousin. Given that he is a wizard I can assume that he was related on the side of Seamus' mother, thus he would have a different surname than Seamus, assuming that Mrs. Finnigan took on her husband's name rather than the other way round. So, this is again taking a canon character and fleshing them out somewhat for the story. I chose to picture him as Andrew Scott (who portrays Moriarty on BBC's Sherlock) because I wanted someone smaller in stature but very intimidating in presence, with a hint of mischief (as he is said in canon to enjoy annoying Seamus by apparating to and from right next to him) to him and no shortage of intelligence.**

 **Tiberius is also mentioned in HBP by his nephew Cormac McLaggen. It is known that he has some influence with the Ministry and a close friend of Rufus Scrimgeour, which will be touched upon later. On choosing Tom Hardy as the 'fan casting' of this character, I wanted someone who commanded respect and attention when in a room. Tom Hardy has a presence to him that is powerful and given that he can play both rough and refined, I felt he was perfect for a character that seems to mingle in both circles, being both an outdoorsman and a Ministry official.**

 **Malcolm is mentioned only on Pottermore, but is the sole remaining relative of Minerva McGonagall, being her younger brother (at least one can assume, younger) and not much is known about him except that he had a wife and son and would visit Minerva in Hogsmead during her brief marriage. Nothing else is known beyond that he did not die in either war. So, I decided to flesh him out too. On picking Toby Stephens (real-life son of Maggie Smith, who portrayed Minerva in the films) I chose him because of the quiet but assertive presence he has in roles such as Captain Flint in Black Sails, and because he has a resemblance to Maggie Smith, being her son.**

 **All right, hope you guys enjoyed. Leave me some love, please!**

 **Until next time,**

 **Atrocity**


	2. The Cairn

**For the record, this is not a crossover. I just had all of those things in the disclaimer because I tend to make a lot of references to other works and wanted to cover my bases.**

 **II. The Cairn**

Harry Potter was dead. That was what the headlines all read the next morning.

Hermione could only stare blankly at the large bold letters that glared back at her from the front page of the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler alike. For once, the two publications seemed to be in agreement on something. That fact alone spoke volumes and lent credence to the words that she did not want to believe and yet were still there for all to see.

Her tea sat cold in its cup, untouched since it had been placed there by Dobby the House Elf; Kreacher had not been seen since the day that Harry was sentenced to life in Azkaban. And what a short life it had been, in the end.

Two years. Two long years and yet it seemed like only yesterday that they had been hiding out in the very basement that now resided beneath her home. Like yesterday, and yet so long ago.

Oh, how things had changed in such a short time. So much was different, and yet outside of the walls of her home, things were the same as they had ever been; at least on the surface. The Ministry was still corrupt, the Minister was still an idiot, children still laughed and played and learned, the adults still went to work every day and the sun still rose in the morning and set in the evening like clockwork.

So how come everything felt so wrong now?

Her eyes focused on the headlines again. Oh, yeah, that's why.

Harry was dead.

Had died in prison like some common criminal. It didn't seem possible but the truth was staring her right in the face, for beneath the headlines were the photos. She could barely glance at them without feeling a lance of pain through her heart. Side by side on the front page, the bodies of Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. were laid out in their cells, eyes open but unseeing.

She had not managed to read the article, which detailed the specifics of the investigation carried out by Aurors Robards and Tonks, which she had gleaned from a short glance. That had come as a surprise to Hermione, seeing Tonks' name on the paper. Why had the woman not said anything to her about this? Why had only Robards come to the house to deliver the news? Hermione would have appreciated having a friendly face there, not someone who had fought against them.

Curious, Hermione picked up the Prophet and began to read.

By the time she was finished with the article she was even more confused than before. According to Rita Skeeter, who had written the article, Tonks had been there but was dismissed by Robards after suffering an emotional episode at the sight of Harry's body. Apparently, Skeeter had interviewed a few of the guards at Azkaban who were there and they told her that Tonks had just sat next to the body, weeping rather than doing her job. Skeeter painted a rather unfavorable picture of the young Auror, calling into question whether she actually had what it took to do the job that she was supposed to do and whether she deserved to be a member of the Auror Office, and what her relationship with Harry had been; one of the guards had spilled that Tonks had visited his cell every week at the same time, never missing a visit even if she was sick.

The words 'weak', 'unprofessional' and 'lackadaisical' were thrown around more than once in regards to Tonks' character and work ethic.

That didn't sound like the Tonks that Hermione knew. The woman was young and by no means a stranger to her emotions but she had a sense of professionalism when on the job and for her to completely shed that in such an open manner was odd. And to call her weak was to severely underestimate her, and that was a serious mistake; and while she could be a bit laid back – and somewhat lazy – outside of work, on the job or when the situation called for it, Tonks was an eager, if not altogether coordinated, participant.

According to one of the guards, Robards had kicked Tonks off the case when it was brought up that it was time to inform the families.

Hermione made a mental note to speak to the young Auror at the first chance she got. She figured focusing on a friend who might be going through something was easier than dealing with her own problems.

All in all, Hermione didn't know what to think anymore, about anything. She had been living day-to-day, taking care of her and Harry's son, working part-time to bolster the income from Lily's own work as a Charms Mistress and Enchanter, and she was ashamed to admit that during the last two years she had done nothing to try to help Harry. She told herself that there was nothing she could have done, that she couldn't take any risks that could end up with her dead or worse; not when she had a child to look after. It was wrong to pawn the burden of blame off on an infant that had no say in the matter, but she wasn't trying to lay blame, merely remind herself of her perfectly sound reasons and priorities.

What could she have done? Waltzed into Azkaban and broken him out? Where was the logic in that? How could she even do that? Azkaban was unplottable and only accessible via Ministry-issued portkey – the only way to apparate there was if you already knew its exact location and were keyed into the wards. Attempting a break-out like that was a logistical and practical nightmare and the very attempt could have ended with the lot of them dead or all occupying their own cells.

Not that the others wouldn't have signed on anyway but they all had things at stake now. Bill and Fleur had a child too – little Victoire, who looked so much like her mother, even at barely a year old, it was almost scary; the first Weasley in generations to not be born with red hair. Some would call that a miracle. They were living in France now, closer to Fleur's family where her daughter could learn more easily of her Veela heritage and Bill could be away from all of the reminders of how broken apart his family was now.

Charlie, for his part, wasn't even in the country anymore either, having gone back to Romania a few months after the war ended and taken up his former job as a dragon-handler. He sent letters every few months and Christmas gifts and birthday wishes, but that was about it.

Luna was abroad as well, traveling with the grandson of Newt Scamander, Rolf, in search of new magical creatures, including but not limited to the ever-elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

Xeno was still working on the Quibbler, which now served as a more speculative foil to the Daily Prophet, but some of the wild, fantastical theories from before still made appearances from time to time.

The team was scattered, all keeping their heads down and going about their lives and they had been doing so since the sentencing.

The idea of trying to get Harry and Barty out had come up, briefly. Tonks had been rather vocal about it and Charlie had supported the idea, but that was around the time that Hermione and Fleur both discovered their respective pregnancies and the whole thing had been canned. Then they had all just drifted apart and gone their separate ways, keeping in touch but never really gathering together, save for the occasional visit here and there.

A soft cry broke Hermione from her thoughts and she sighed, tossing the paper aside and standing up. She made her way quickly to the drawing room, just across the hall, and scooped baby Hugo up in her arms, rocking him gently and softly shushing him as he continued to cry.

"Shh, there, there. Mummy's here," she cooed, stroking his soft dark hair comfortingly.

Once he was somewhat settled, she returned to the kitchen and fed him, then returned him to the drawing room. She sat herself down in a chair, Hugo resting against her breast and leaned back, letting her own breathing and a full belly lull the small child to sleep.

Yes, her life had changed so much in such a short time, and it was just going to get harder now what she carried the weight of her grief over Harry's death on her soul.

 **XXXX**

Darkness.

That was the first thing that Tonks became aware of when she awoke from her troubled sleep. That, and the rapid beating of her own heart.

She had been dreaming. Of what, she couldn't quite remember but it had been something not at all pleasant and she recalled screaming, but nothing else. Not who was screaming or why, or even where or when.

She sat up and reached for her wand, which was sitting, like always, on her bedside table. With a quick flick the time appeared floating in front of her in soft glowing numbers. It was only three in the morning. She had to be up in four hours to go to work, and she had only managed to fall asleep an hour ago.

Scenes of her visit to Azkaban kept playing over and over in her mind, and kept her from relaxing enough to get to sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes she could see _his_ , staring back at her, all green and empty and vacant. Dead. Every time she saw them in her mind, she would feel a tightening in her chest and the prickle of tears in her eyes.

It wasn't supposed to be like that. Harry wasn't supposed to die in there like a caged animal, so weak and damaged. A shell of his former self.

The first few times she had visited him, he had been quiet but she knew that he could hear her and knew that she was there. But, slowly, over time, he began to drift away, further and further into himself and away from her, until he no longer knew who she was. He had never said anything but she had seen the recognition in his eyes the few times they made eye contact, but that vanished too; sometimes she doubted he even knew she was there at all, not seeing and not hearing her.

She would bring him food during her visits, hoping a bit of real sustenance would do him good, but she could still track the gradual withering away of his body mass; she could trace the timeline of the atrophy in her mind.

She had watched the man that she called friend and loved dearly waste away into a mere shadow, a shade that bore his name and face, but wasn't him, and it broke her heart. But she had kept a tight lid on that hurt, and while every visit was a new crack in that fragile structure, she never let anyone see how much it truly affected her. Sure, she'd get the occasional "you look like shit, Tonks" comment from people after visiting, but at least she had never cried where anyone could see. Until yesterday.

Seeing him laying there, void of life and the light gone from those eyes that she had often seen in her dreams had opened the floodgates and it all came crashing down on her like tonne of bricks. She had been unable to hold it in any longer and collapsed at his side, weeping like a widow, though she was nothing of the sort.

It was not her finest moment, but she could not bring herself to care what Robards or any of the others might think of her. How was she supposed to react when one of the most important people in her life had just died and she had had to confront that reality literally face-to-face?

She was not ashamed to have cried and never would be.

As was wont to happen in times like this, her mind began to ponder that most dangerous of questions: what if?

What if she had tried to break him out, like she had thought of doing so many times during her visits. What would have happened then?

And, as also was common when these types of thoughts came around, the answers the mind conjured were often fantastical and improbable, and she was too honest with herself to accept any of them as a likely possibility.

Harry had never looked at her like that, and now he never would; saving him from prison wouldn't have changed that. Sure, they had flirted a few times and would tease each other occasionally but Harry had ever only had eyes for Hermione and even if she had managed to find a way to break him out, that would not have changed, especially once he found out that he had a son too.

A spike of jealousy lanced through her at that thought, but she roughly pushed it down. She was a better person than that, or at least that's what she liked to tell herself.

She looked at the time again and groaned. It was now half-past four. Her little dip into fantasy and ruminations on the stark reality had stolen another hour and a half from her allotted sleep time.

She whimpered softly and rolled onto her stomach, where she was most comfortable, and closed her eyes, carefully trying to keep her mind blank while thinking of staying awake; which kind of contradicted each other but whatever. She had read somewhere that if you tell yourself you aren't going to fall asleep, or not to fall asleep, your mind will rebel against you and make you sleep. She didn't understand the supposed science behind it but the idea of it was enough and it worked for her most nights, and maybe that was the point.

Tonight, however, luck just wasn't on her side and it took her another half hour to eventually doze off into a troubled sleep.

She was awoken a few hours later by her alarm and she crawled unhappily out of the bed and dragged herself into the bathroom to shower.

She was back out again in ten minutes still feeling groggy and miserable, her hair hanging limp and dull around her face, back to its natural color of dark dark brunette. What sleep she had managed to get had been plagued by dreams of green eyes and someone screaming. She was far from rested and was in no mood to even see other people but she had to go to work regardless; the bills didn't pay themselves.

She prepared herself some tea with honey to try and take the edge off of her fatigue but it did little good.

Normally, she wouldn't even bother with tea or coffee in the morning. She didn't need it to get herself going in the morning, but today was an exception.

She smiled, remembering a conversation she had once had with Harry on the subject. It had been when they were all staying at Grimmauld. She had come into the house one morning like a violet hurricane, tripped over the troll leg and spouted a jubilant 'good morning' to Harry, who had been the only one awake at the time and was eagerly taking in his morning cuppa. He had grumbled like Kreacher and muttered something of which the only thing she caught was 'unnatural'. Now, being a Metamorphmagus, she had often heard this word used in reference to herself, usually snarled in her direction or whispered under the breath by uppity Purebloods. So, with that in mind, one could understand why she might take offense.

As it turned out, Harry had been expressing that it was unnatural for someone to be that happy so early in the morning. Of course, he had only explained this _after_ she had tried to curse him to kingdom come and back again. Their impromptu duel had done the trick in waking Harry up though. He still swore though that anyone who could function without a cup of tea or coffee in the morning was either a psychopath or a demon sent from the Underworld. Tonks' only response had been a wide, joyful grin and chipper laugh.

She shook her head. There she went again. Letting her mind drift to places it had no business going.

Her day only got worse when the morning Prophet arrived and she was presented with a rather harsh attack on her character, on the front page no less, hidden in with the report of Harry's death. Seeing who had written it, it didn't surprise her, but it still hurt nonetheless.

She threw the paper in the fireplace and watched it burn up into nothing, tossed out the rest of her tea down the sink and then grabbed her coat, pulling it on in hopes that the warmth would be enough to comfort her during the long day that she was sure to have ahead of her.

She flooed to the Ministry and walked to the lift, keeping her head down so that she couldn't see the people looking at her, as they were sure to be doing. She could hear the Prophet Crier shouting out that morning's headline and offering papers to those who passed by that didn't already have one. Soon, the whole Ministry would know about her major depressive episode the previous day.

She ignored the whispers that followed her as she sat down at her desk in the Auror Office, hiding herself behind a random case file. She didn't know what the case was and she didn't care, she just wanted to get through the day.

 **XXXX**

Gawain had arrived at work late as usual. The last of the Auror Office to arrive and he could feel the eyes on him as he walked to his desk. He had seen the papers that morning and knew that his name had come up more than once in it. But he had been nowhere near as prominent as Tonks had been. The poor girl had been torn apart for the entire country to read.

He glanced in her direction and frowned. She had her head almost literally buried in a case file, while those around her either glancing at her, or clustered together like cockroaches and whispering and pointing at her.

He shook his head. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hard on her, but at the time it had seemed the right thing to do. It wasn't like there was anything he could do now. The damage had been done already. And it wasn't like he or Tonks could bring a libel case against the Prophet; everything they said was either true or just speculation and one couldn't charge someone for speculation, no matter how damaging it was. The Prophet was run by the Ministry, even if it wasn't officially in charge of it, and it was difficult to get at it. The wording was where it was at, and Skeeter had been very careful to keep her wording in a grey area. She had learned that lesson back when she had published an article saying that Harry Potter, then a teacher at Hogwarts, had been having a sexually based favor-for-favor relationship with then-student Hermione Granger. Savage had handled that one, back when things had been simple and they were all fighting on the same side; and before Harry had revealed himself as The God of Death.

Pushing the thoughts outs of his mind he sat down at his own desk and pulled out the case file from the previous day, the one he had been looking at when Savage had sent him off to Azkaban.

A woman named Margaret 'Marge' Thatcher, no relation to the former Muggle Prime Minister, who lived in Devon, near Dartmoor, had reported seeing flashing lights emitting from a cave near her home. She claimed that she had been walking her dog one evening when the dog had stiffened up and began growling as if something threatening were nearby. She had scanned the area and seen what at first appeared to be a torch, but soon turned into a series of flickering and flashing lights of various colors.

Of course, she had not gone to investigate, a decision that Gawain thought more than wise, and had contacted the Auror Office the next morning after spending a fretful night locked up in her house.

There was a new report added to the file this morning and he took it out and read it. It would seem that while he had been away at Azkaban yesterday, she had contacted the Office again. Claimed to have heard an unearthly howling from the direction of the cave the next night, which she described as being like screaming, but more horrible, and 'not of this world'.

He sighed and closed the case file after copying the relevant information into a small notebook that he kept with him for the purpose of taking notes when on a case; it never ran out of pages. He also kept an auto-refilling pen with it.

He stood up and donned his coat, placing a cigarette between his lips as he walked toward the front of the Office. He let the 'dispatch officer' know where he was going, in case they needed to go looking for him or send backup, and headed for the lifts. He stopped at the door and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked back at Tonks and briefly wondered if he should bring her along, get her out of the Office and to some fresh air, but then he decided against it. With the Prophet this morning so fresh in everyone's minds, it was probably best she sit this one out, just in case the 'witness' recognized her and thought that they were not suitable to handle things. They couldn't stop them from investigating now that a report had been filed but she could file a complaint and that was more trouble than it was worth.

He apparated to Dartmoor, near Grimpen, and took a bit of time to look around the area, even venturing into the Mire very briefly, before heading into the small hamlet to get exact directions to where on the moor Mrs. Thatcher lived.

After a quick pint at the Cross Keys Inn and some helpful and concise directions from the barkeep, Gary, and Gary's 'husband' Billy, Gawain was on his way again.

It took him roughly twenty minutes to find the small little cottage that was the home of Mrs. Thatcher and took the time to have a smoke before he arrived. He also found himself glad that he had decided to wear his black topcoat today, rather than his regular trench coat, as the weather was a bit on the cool side and the black coat was warmer.

When he was within ten meters of the front door the sound of a dog barking was suddenly heard from within the house, and a moment later he saw a curtain move. Then the door opened and a middle-aged woman stuck her head out briefly. Gawain didn't have to guess to know that her wand was drawn behind the cover of the door.

"Who're you?" she called out, her voice containing the slightest of trembles.

Gawain showed her his empty hands – well, empty save for the cigarette perched between two fingers of his right hand – to indicate that he was unarmed and meant no harm. "My name is Auror Gawain Robards," he called out clearly. "I'm here to follow up on a report you filed with our Office about some strange lights?" While it was technically a statement, he spoke it more as a question, to get her mind going toward the relevant subject.

The woman looked him over briefly before nodding and stepping outside of her house and closing the door. Normally, he would be invited in with an offer for a cuppa, but so much for English hospitality.

"They only send one of you?" the woman asked.

Gawain nodded and took another drag from his cigarette. "We don't expect to find any trouble, but I am fully-trained Auror and former member of the Anti-Death Eater Task Force. I also happen to be the DMLE go-to guy for things that involve the Dark Arts."

The woman didn't look too impressed but nodded anyway.

Gawain pulled out his notebook and pen, flipping to a new page. "Now, state your name, please, for my notes."

"Margaret Licinia Thatcher, née Artoria," she answered succinctly.

Gawain made a note of it in his pad, briefly wondering if this woman was a cousin to the Artorius family, one of the oldest Pureblood families in the Kingdom, tracing their bloodline back to the second century C.E., but thought it better not to ask. The Artorius family had been driven to near extinction during the early years of Voldemort's rise to power, with the few remaining members fleeing to the continent to escape the Death Eaters. They had not returned.

"Right, then, Mrs, Thatcher," he sighed. "Why don't you walk me through it all, show me where and how it happened."

The woman nodded and pointed toward the back of her house. "'Round here," she said.

The two walked around the house and started up a small hill. Once at the top Gawain could see a cluster of trees off in the distance and some large rock formations not too far off and the mire to their right.

"I was walking me dog, out here, around, oh, nine-thirty, ten o'clock," she said as they started down the far side of the hill. "Was on my way back to the house, you see. We had been skirting around the mire and were just there, by the rocks. Jupiter, my dog, he likes to chase hares round there sometimes. Now, he weren't acting all excited, like he normally would, and that were the first sign of something being not quite right."

Gawain nodded and made a few more notes in his book, making mental notes of the direction and location of things.

"Who owns this land here?" he asked, gesturing ahead of them toward the mire and the thicket.

Thatcher titled her head. "Some Ministry bloke. McLaggen, his name is. Tried to contact him but he weren't home. Don't stay much in this area, ya see. Don't have no owl, meself, so's I just figure to report it to the Aurors."

Gawain made a small note of that in his book.

They were nearing the rocks now – which were more of a tor than anything – and the woman came to a stop. "It were about here that Jupiter started to go all tense. He stilled up and his ears went all alert, so I says to him, 'what's the matter, boy?' and just kind sits there, all rigid. Then, the starts growling and I look around, thinking maybe there be another dog around and he's feeling territorial or something. Then, that's when I see it." She points off toward the trees. "There, in the trees, there's a cave just there, and what I saw were these bright flashing lights. All colors. Red, blue, green, white...and I hear this noise, like a whining. First thought it was Jupiter, but then I realize that he's still growling and it's coming from too far away to be him anyway. Don't really know if the two were connected or not but it scared me, right down to me soul and I get the leash out and hook up me dog, then I get back to the house, quick-like. Locked the doors and windows tight and went to bed. But, I didn't sleep none that night. Next morning I go in and give a report at the Auror Office."

Gawain looked around the area, making note of the cave she mentioned and determining to take a closer look once his questioning was done. "And this was the _first_ incident?" he asked. She nodded. "My notes say that you filed a second report this morning?"

Thatcher nods again. "Yes. You see, last night I was walking Jupiter again, right around here, like always. Decided not to venture beyond here though, just in case. Well, he was doing his thing when there comes an unearthly howling from the direction of the cave."

"Howling?" Robards questions. "Like a dog or wolf?"

The woman shakes her head. "No, no. More human-like. Can't really call it screaming, more a descending cry. Started out kinda high-pitched and loud, then went lower and quieter. After that was when the screaming started. Couldn't tell if it were a man or woman, or child maybe, but it was a horrible sound like someone were being tortured. I grabbed Jupiter by the collar and put on the leash and then we ran back to the house again. Went into the Office this morning and filed another report, and then you showed up and now we're here."

Gawain made a few more notes in his book and then closed it. "Right, well, I think that's all I'll need, thank you, Mrs. Thatcher."

She nodded and he started walking toward where she had indicated the cave to be.

"You be careful down there," Thatcher called out from behind him. "There's no telling what sort of evil sorcery is going on in that cave. And don't venture to far into the mire. We've lost more than a few outsiders to it's maw."

Gawain waved his hand over his head to indicate that he had heard her warnings and continued on his way.

He fished a fresh cigarette out and lit it, taking a lung-full of smoke and exhaling gratefully.

The walk to the treeline was short and easy and he drew his wand once he was about ten meters from the first trees. He could see that just beyond the treeline there was a deep depression in the earth, like a slope leading down into a dark tunnel of sorts, the inner sides of the slope overrun with brush and with the occasional tree root jutting out from it. The entrance of the cave itself was framed by large flat stones, like those that made up such structures as Stone Henge, and on the top was a stack of stones, smaller than the others, creating something like a crude spire or obelisk standing roughly thirty feet in height.

He skirted the edge of the slope and made his way to the stacked stones. Once up close he could see no distinguishing markings, no Runes, no carvings, nothing.

Making a quick note of all of this in his book, he then went back around and started down into the slope.

Once he reached the mouth of the cave, he suddenly felt disoriented and head started to hurt. He turned away from the cave and the feeling vanished, along with his recent memory of getting there. He couldn't remember why he was there. Frowning, he took out his book and read his last few entries. He remembered speaking to Mrs. Thatcher, but he was missing everything that came after nearing the trees.

He walked to the top of the slope while reading and looked back at the cave. This was where he was supposed to be, based on his notes. He walked back down to the cave entrance, which was really more like a doorway with the way the stones framed it and with it being only four feet wide and eight feet tall.

Once he was about to step through, the disorientation hit him and his head began to hurt. He ground his teeth and shakily wrote this into his book as best as he could before turning away from the doorway.

He gasped for breath as he looked around himself. Where was he? Why was he here?

Frowning at the headache that was fading with every second he lifted his notebook and read the last few pages. His frown deepened when he reached the end and he turned to look at the cave entrance behind him.

It had to be some sort of ward, if what he was reading here was accurate, and seeing how he had written it in his book, or at least he thought he did, then it was more than likely accurate.

Thinking back to what Thatcher had said about flashing lights, he wondered if the first night she had seen the erection of these wards. It would explain why she had never seen them before then, especially since he knew from the case file and the barkeep in Grimpen that she had lived here for over thirty years with her husband, now deceased.

What about the second night though? Perhaps something or someone had triggered the wards?

Determined to test his theory, he marched back into the cave entrance. Having read in his notes what to expect, he fought as hard as he could past the disorientation and did his best to see past the headache, and he could indeed see the flashing lights, faint in the daylight, as he struggled against the wards. He grit his teeth and wrote this down, knowing he would forget it as soon as he turned around. But, what if he didn't turn around? What if he pressed on in. Not being able to think past his headache any more than that he shakily put one foot in front of the other and then again. Slowly, he fought forward, leaning against the inside of the doorway to keep himself from collapsing.

Finally, when he thought that his head might just explode from the pressure he was feeling, it all went away and he was laying face-down on the earthen floor of the cave.

Gasping as the pain slowly faded he pulled himself back to his feet.

He was in an antechamber of sorts, the walls made of stone and covered with carvings; trees, strange creatures, runes. One particular drawing caught his attention and he approached it, running his hand over the intricate designs. The was a picture there, like an archway atop a raised crag or crude platform. There were several human figures kneeling on either side, facing in toward the mysterious structure. It resembled the archway in the Department of Mysteries, or at least the images he had seen of it, never having actually been in the Department of Mysteries before. What gave him pause was the vague outline of a humanoid figure in the center of the archway; unlike the worshipers, there were no details to the design of this figure, just a basic silhouette.

There was an inscription of runes above and below the image. Runes were something he had studied extensively in his time learning of the Dark Arts, and thus he had no trouble in translating the words that had been carved there probably more than a thousand years ago.

 _"The beasts of the earth_ _shall_ _die, those that share your blood_ _shall_ _die, and you too_ _shall_ _die; and though the deeds live on they may be forgotten in time and then they too_ _shall_ _die, but that which has gone to_ _Death_ _shall_ _never die."_

Gawain frowned, wondering what exactly that meant, and made a quick note of it in his notebook, along with a rough sketch of the images.

Turning away from the wall, Gawain looked around himself and noticed a small doorway, leading deeper into the earth. He stepped inside, lighting his wand and following the twisting path of the hallway. After about five minutes of walking he noticed a light reflected on the wall ahead and extinguished his own light.

The light was warm in color, like the orange glow of a fire and he slowly crept forward, hearing the quiet murmur of voices speaking in low tones.

He was directly at the corner and knew that if he rounded it it would place him in the same room as whoever was down here when he was finally able to make out the words being spoken.

"...much longer you think he'll be out?" the first voice asked, sounding rough and a bit weak.

"Don't know," the second voice answered, this one stronger and smoother. "He hasn't stirred so much as an inch since that fit he had yesterday."

"You ready to take over watch now?" the first voice asked. "I don't know if I can keep my eyes open much longer."

"In a moment," the second voice answered, followed by the sound of someone climbing to their feet. "Just gonna take a quick look out front. Check the wards, make sure they're holding strong after that near-miss last night. Might add an early-warning into it."

Gawain cursed and began backing away as the sound of footsteps started in his direction.

He took a step and gave an involuntary gasp when he felt his ankle roll painfully when his foot landed awkwardly on a loose stone.

"What was that?" the first voice asked.

A second later, a dark form sped around the corner and a bright flash of red lit of the darkness before everything went dark and Gawain was knocked from consciousness..

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Chapter two down. Next chapter will see the return of Regulus and some more Robards, Tonks and Hermione, and more light will be shed on the Harry and Barty situation. They'll be back soon, never fear.**

 **Now, as always, reviews mean the world to me and give me motivation to keep writing, so leave me some love or constructive criticism. And please point out any mistakes you see, please.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Atrocity.**


	3. Those Left Behind

**III. Those Left Behind**

Regulus looked down at the man he had just stunned with a frown marring his face. This was exactly why he had just been saying they needed to put up a ward to warn them if someone tried to cross the wards. How this man had managed to get past the wards was a question that he wanted answered sooner rather than later. It wasn't impossible, but it was bloody difficult and for someone to do so was no mean feat.

He knelt and picked up the fallen wand of the intruder and stuffed it into his pocket. He grabbed the man by his ankle and dragged him into the room where the fire was burning, dropping him not too far from the light source.

"Who is that?" a gravelly voice asked from beside the fire.

Regulus looked at the man, a mere shadow of his former self. "Don't know." He looked down at the intruder and a spark of recognition lit in his mind. "Robards."

The other man got to his feet and walked slowly over to Regulus. "The Auror. He was at the trials."

Regulus nodded. "Yes. I remember seeing him at you're mother's funeral, too. If he's here then we haven't been as careful as I had hoped." He knelt down and began riffling through the Auror's pockets, finding cigarettes, a notebook and a pen and a small coinpurse. He tossed the cigarettes and purse onto the floor, not finding them important. He peeled open the notebook and began flipping through the pages. "Well, this explains a lot," he muttered, reading the latest entries.

"What?" the other man asked.

He held up the small notebook for him to see. "It appears that he was able to make notes of the wards before they wiped his mind, that's how he managed to get in. He knew what they would do if he turned around instead of pressing onward. I knew I should have put up a notice-me-not, but Malcolm didn't think it would be needed. He was wrong."

"What are we gonna do with him?"

Regulus stuffed everything back into the various pockets they had come from, minus a single cigarette, and secured the Auror's wand in the holster at his side. "I'll just wipe his mind and drop him back outside." He pointed his wand at the unconscious man's head. " _Obliviate_."

He erased all of the memories beyond the wall carvings and ended the spell. He levitated Robards up off the ground and walked him back down the winding hallway and into the antechamber. He dropped Robards onto the ground beside said wall carving and then turned toward the entrance, adding in a quick alarm to the wards. He then stepped back into the entrance of the hallway and cast a notice-me-not on the area of it and himself, then cast the spell to wake Robards up again.

He watched the Auror stir and sit up, rubbing his head as the after-effect of being stunned and then awoken set in in the form of a headache. Hopefully that would be enough to cover up the signs of the memory charm he had performed on him. It was lucky that the notebook had not been updated after he copied that part of the Story Wall.

Robards pulled out his notebook now, as if Regulus thinking about it had put the thought into his head. He flipped through the last few entries and groaned, pulling himself to his feet. He looked at the carvings on the wall again and then back at his notebook before taking out the pen and jotting down something else.  
He then did a quick circuit of the room, making a few notes in his little book, then stopped in the middle of the room. The Welshman seemed conflicted and Regulus began to feel a gnawing anxiety in his gut that he had not wiped the man's memories as well as he thought he had.

The notebook was returned to the pocket after a sigh and the cigarettes made an appearance now and again the man paused when he opened the pack and Regulus cursed himself for taking one of the little sticks of tobacco for himself; it had been some time since he had had a good smoke of tobacco and he would take what he could get – it wasn't his pipe but it would do.

Gawain looked around again before shrugging and lighting the cigarette and walking out of the antechamber and back outside. The wards flashed as he stepped through them and continued on his way. He had already been inside, so they didn't erase anything this time. Once he was gone from sight, Regulus stepped out of the hall and cast another notice-me-not on the entrance of the antechamber. People would just see a regular stone cairn, not the barrow beneath.

That done, he returned to the room where the others were waiting for him. He dropped down into a creaky wooden chair and sighed.

"He gone?"

Regulus tilted his head to the side. "Yes, Barty, he's gone. You can sleep now."

Barty nodded and lowered himself down on his bedroll, taking a glance toward the back of the room before pulling his blanket over himself and closing his eyes, quickly falling into sleep.

Regulus withdrew the cigarette he had stolen from Robards and lit it with his finger, grimacing at the rather harsh feel and flavor of the thing. What was it with muggles and polluting good tobacco with so many damned chemicals? He preferred his own stuff, it was fresh and clean and tasted as smooth as honeyed wine. Alas, it had not been a priority when packing to come here. He'd have Kreacher retrieve it for him in a while.

He took a couple more drags off the thing – beggars can't be choosers after all – and looked around the room. Barty was sound asleep next to the burning fire. They had learned quickly that the warmth of the fire kept the nightmares of the cold and depressive darkness of Azkaban at bay, or at least lessened them somewhat.

Regulus studied his oldest friend with something akin to sorrow. He was aged beyond his years now, eyes sunken and hollow looking, skin pale and weak, muscles wasted away. His hair, once a pure, shining mahogany was laced with bits of grey. It wasn't all that bad, at least not as bad as it could have been. He was in his late-thirties, but looked closer to mid-forties.

A bag of potions sat next to his bedroll, and several empty bottles lay scattered about. Potions to restore strength and vitality, potions to ease the shakes that came from overexposure to Dementors. Potions for sleep. And a few wrappers from chocolate bars. They were doing everything they could to get Barty back on his feet and to some semblance of his former self. It would take time, possibly even years before he was anywhere close to being back to normal but he would make it, Regulus knew he would.

Ir was Harry that had him worried.

He was smaller and weaker than Barty and it only showed more so now. Since bringing him here, he had only stirred once. And that had been terrifying to say the least.

It was the previous night and Barty and Regulus had been having a small meal provided by Kreacher when Harry's eyes shot open and he began to scream. Regulus had run over to him to see what was wrong but Harry lashed out at him as if he didn't know who he was and then made a run for the exit.

He had almost made it out too, getting to the antechamber, screaming the whole way, before Regulus was able to trip him up with a spell. He ran to him and restrained him while Harry fought with everything he had to escape before suddenly falling silent and limp.

Regulus had thought that he had died on him, but found a pulse, slow and faint, but steady.

He had carried the boy – no more than twenty but looking nearer to thirty with the grey in his hair and the sunken eyes – back to the chamber and laid him out on the stone slab at the back of the room. He had secured him in place with some conjured ropes around his legs and feet, so if he tried to run again, he would not be able to.

Regulus couldn't get the image of his friends eyes when he had lashed out at him out of his head. They were blank, empty. There was nothing behind those eyes, no life, no soul. No Harry. He was like the dead, but walking. So, he tied his legs, so that dead or not, he would not do so again.

There were some ancient corpses further into the barrow, and they had had their legs bound in a similar fashion. The carvings on the walls spoke of dead who would come back to life and kill those who entered their tombs, but the tying of the feet prevented them from hurting family members who came to pay respects and honor the dead. Regulus had sealed the chamber, just in case. He had heard stories of such things before, of Nordic tribes tying the toes of the dead together in case they came back as _Draugr_.

It made him wonder about what sort of magic there was in those far-off times that the dead could walk again, even if it was as little more than a vengeance-obsessed zombie.

He looked over at Harry. Since that incident, the boy had not moved again, and more than once Regulus would have to check that the boy was still breathing, he was so still.

He took a final drag from the cigarette and snuffed it out under his boot. He stood and went about cleaning up the empty potion bottles and the chocolate wrappers, vanishing them. It would not do to disrespect such ancient and holy places as this by leaving their trash as litter, laying about in such a fashion.

That done, he settled himself back into his chair and rubbed his eyes. This was the only downside to this place. He had no means by which to entertain himself in the long hours of his watch. Perhaps he could get Tiber or Malcolm to bring him some reading material when they checked in.

With a sigh, he leaned back and resigned himself to a long day of nothing.

 **XXXX**

Hermione was less than enthusiastic to go in to work that day, but life waits for no one and bills had to be paid. She had left Hugo with her parents for the day, since Lily had to work as well, and then apparated to Diagon Alley.

She didn't linger long in the bustling hub of the shopping district and ducked into Knockturn Alley with the ease of someone who knew where they were going and had walked that route many times before.

Knockturn Alley had changed some since the downfall of Voldemort. The streets were still dirty and the buildings were still dingy and the people were still of the darker nature, but there was a noticeable absence of that sense of fear and oppression that had hung in the air during the reign of the Dark Lord.

The people moved easier and stuck less to the shadows now. It was nowhere near as lively and well... _alive_ as Diagon or Horizont, but it was no longer a walking corpse on its last legs.

She passed by the tattoo shop, waving to Markus the Younger as he leaned against the doorway, looking out over the Alley while smoking his pipe, and he waved back with a small smile; she could see Markus the Elder and Wekesa inside, already working on customers, even at this early hour – it was only noon.

She finally arrived at her destination a moment later.

The White Wyvern had been a favorite haunt for Harry and Barty back in their Death Eater days and while the place remembered them fondly, there was a sign on the door that prohibited those bearing the Dark Mark from entering.

Hermione pushed open the door and made her way inside, her eyes taking a moment to adjust the lower lighting of the pub in contrast to the sunny day it was outside.

There were a few regulars already there, and they greeted her fondly. She was quite popular here and had no shortage of would-be suitors. It was lucky though that they all liked her enough not to get angry or upset when she turned them away, and she always did so with a kind smile and a shake of a head.

One thing she had learned while working here these past year was that one couldn't judge others based on appearance. While her customers might look like the scum of the earth or the dregs of humanity, they more often than not were nicer and more accepting than those who dressed themselves in finery and boasted themselves as the elite.

It had come as a bit of a shock that her status as a muggleborn was all but ignored here. Perhaps that had something to do with her association with Harry, who was seen as something of a folk hero in here, but she liked to think it was because it really didn't matter to these people.

She greeted the morning barmaid, Ella, with a smile and wave as she went into the back and deposited her personal effects into a locker in the office. She then signed in on the logbook and went back out front, tying a white apron on over her clothes; spills happened far too often as the night wore on and the aprons were enchanted to repel liquids of all kinds.

Ella looked at her, noting her readiness. "You got this?"

Hermione looked at the mostly-empty pub with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, you go ahead and take off."

Ella nodded her thanks and went into the office to get her own things and sign out. While she did this, Hermione went over the inventory, making sure that everything was stocked as it was supposed to be and making sure the numbers were correct.

With everything in order, she waved Ella out and made a quick sweep of the room, checking to see if anyone needed refills.

She was stopped at each table and the customers all gave their condolences for Harry's death, asking her if she would like to share a drink to his and Barty's memories with them.

She, of course, politely declined. She wasn't allowed to drink on the job unless Malcolm, the owner, was there. He liked to make sure that whoever was manning the bar was clear-headed enough to not get taken advantage of. He himself rarely drank when there, preferring to just sit and observe everyone or take care of business in the office, usually trusting her and the other nighttime barmaid, a dark haired and eyed woman from Edinburgh named Marryn – Mary, for short – to handle things, but there if he was needed.

The afternoon passed with no problems and Marryn came in just after six to join her and Malcolm himself entered at just before nine. He was a tall man with reddish brown hair that he wore to his shoulders and pulled back, with a red beard adorning his chin and jawline. His face was stern and a bit worn looking but he was soft-spoken and thoughtful, and his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's and blue as the sea. Hermione knew little about him save for that he was Scottish, born somewhere around Caithness in the year Nineteen-Forty-Seven, youngest of three children. She also knew that he and his elder sister, whom he didn't get on with, were the only members of their family still alive, their brother having been killed in the seventies by Death Eaters. He had a wife and one child, though if it was a son or daughter, she didn't know. He was pretty tight-lipped about his personal life, but Hermione couldn't blame him, she was too, for the most part.

Mary, on the other hand was an open book. She was just out of Hogwarts, having been two years behind Hermione herself, and had dreams of owning her own pub one day. That was why she was here; her father was an old associate of Malcolm's and had contacted the other man in hopes that he would take his daughter on as an apprentice of sorts. Malcolm had, evidently, agreed. She also had a very serious boyfriend who came in to see her from time to time when she was working.

By the time ten o'clock rolled around, the pub was filled with regulars and newcomers alike. More than one new face learned the hard way not to try and get frisky with either of the two young ladies providing their drinks, both from the regulars and from the ladies themselves. Hermione had to personally lay one poor sod out on his back when he tried to cop a feel of her bum as she passed his table. A nice wooden serving tray to the face and he was down for the count.

All things considered, she was glad for this place and the familiarity of it. Had this been one of her days off, she would undoubtedly be at home wallowing in her grief over Harry.

Of course, his ghost followed her even here, his old haunt. More than one toast went up to the fallen heroes who had rid them of the iron fist of Voldemort. Songs were sung and stories were told and drinks were thrown back with feeling.

It wasn't until near midnight that it really hit home for her though. That was when Tonks walked in.

Hermione saw the older woman as soon as she entered the room. It wasn't because of her bright colored hair either – her hair was actually dark and long today, looking a bit too natural for what Hermione was used to seeing on the Auror. No, what had caught her attention was the sound. As soon as she came in, she tripped, taking an unfortunate man with her and two chairs to the ground.

Tonks was up within seconds but the other body was too drunk to even bother trying. This wasn't a rare thing either, every night someone passed out or just fell over and they were left there until someone decided to either drag them out of the way or their friends carried them home.

Tonks approached the bar and sat down on an empty stool, the former occupant was laying in the corner at the moment, so he didn't mind.

Hermione registered surprise and then uneasiness from the her friend when she looked up to order her drink and found Hermione standing there.

"Hermione?" Tonks asked, haltingly. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione smiled at the Auror. "I work here, Tonks. What can I get you?"

Tonks looked even more uncomfortable. "Erm...I'll take some whiskey, please, Hermione."

Hermione nodded and grabbed a glass, filling it half-way up. "First one's on the house," she said, and Tonks nodded her thanks, downing the entire glass in a single swallow.

She set the glass back down and slid it across the bar. "Another, please."

Hermione refilled the glass, a little more this time and Tonks knocked it back the same way. It was refilled again.

"You might want to slow down there, Tonks," Hermione gently admonished as she poured a pint for a man down the bar. She walked over and delivered the mug and made her way back to her friend. An empty glass awaited her. She refilled it after a second of hesitation. "Long day at work?"

Tonks nodded. "You could say that...I needed this," she raised the glass and drained it, slamming it down on the bar a little harder than intended.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Tonks shook her head, but found herself talking anyway. "Jus', with the Prophet this mornin' ever'one's been treatin' me different. Talkin' 'hind me back an' such. Pointin' and whisperin' 'bout me." Her voice quite slurred by this point, having downed three glasses of whiskey, not shot glasses either.

She tapped her glass, indicating that she wanted Hermione to fill it back up. Hermione hesitated before filling it to half. Tonks didn't notice that it wasn't full and downed the whiskey without a thought. She pushed the glass back insistently until Hermione poured more into it. "Might as well just buy the bottle at this point, Tonks," Hermione said with a forced chuckle.

Tonks eyes seemed to light up at the idea of having a whole bottle to herself. "Can I?"

Hermione nodded, against her own misgivings. "Five galleons."

Tonks reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her coinpurse, reaching in and pulling out a handful of gold, which she slapped down on the bar with a clatter. Hermione sighed and counted out five galleons, after which Tonks slowly and carefully scooped the remainder back into her purse, stuffing the whole thing back in her pocket.

When she turned back to the bar she caught sight of a copy of the Prophet, sitting beside the man next to her. Tonks took her refilled glass and stood up, climbing onto her bar-stool so that she could see the entire room. She steadied herself, ignoring Hermione protests, and raised her glass. "I'd like to propose a toast, to Harry Potter," she yelled out, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, including Malcolm, who stepped out of his office to see what the commotion was about. "To the best fuckin' man I ever knew...Wherever he is now, I hope he and that bastard Barty are givin' them all fuckin' hell! To Harry!"

The call was echoed rather enthusiastically around the room and glasses were knocked back. Tonks, for her part, downed hers and dropped unceremoniously back onto her stool, swaying precariously before using the bar to right herself.

Hermione shook her head at the drunken Auror but refilled the glass anyway, since Tonks had already paid for it.

"You didn' drink, 'Mione," Tonks pointed out, looking upset by this knowledge. "Why didn' you drink?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not allowed to drink on the job, Tonks."

Tonks scoffed. "Tha's dumb. You work in a pub, drinkin's part of the job!"

Hermione was about to protest further when she felt someone walk up behind her. She turned to find Malcolm standing there. "Is there a problem over here?"

Hermione shook her head, but Tonks wasn't going to let it go just yet. "She didn' drink to Harry. She's 'spose to love him. She's gotta drink!"

"I told you, I'm not allowed to when I'm working," Hermione said, looking uncomfortable.

Malcolm eyed the two women and then nodded. "Pour four shots, Hermione, from my personal shelf." Hermione looked at him questioningly. "He's the father of your child, Hermione, the least you can do is have a drink to his memory."

Hermione's eyes widened but she quickly went about doing as she was told. Soon, four shots of the highest quality whiskey were sitting on the bar in front of Tonks. Marryn was called over and a shot was handed to her and Hermione, and one pushed to Tonks, and the last was taken by Malcolm himself, who offered the quiet toast between the four of them. "To Harry and Barty," was all he said, then swallowed the whiskey after the others had repeated it. That done, he nodded to them all and went back into his office.

Hermione's eyes watered; she wasn't much of a drinker and the bottles on Malcolm's personal shelf were more powerful than the more common fare that she had been serving Tonks; Ogden's might be the most popular but it was by no means the finest or the strongest and the whiskey they had just drank was smooth but still burned something fierce.

Tonks seemed abated, at least and was quiet the rest of the night, downing her remaining glasses in silence.

By the time it was time to close up, Tonks was the only one left at the bar, leaned over, head in her arms, three-quarters of the large bottle beside her empty. Where she was once loud and a bit rowdy, she was now subdued and looking quite miserable.

Hermione took her glass and cleaned it, putting it with the others, and finished wiping down the bar while Marryn took care of the books, checking the inventory and making sure the income matched what went out. She insisted on doing this so she could do it for her own pub when she finally got one. Malcolm had agreed to let her do it every night, but he would look it over himself after they all left.

Once everything was cleaned, Hermione signed herself out and gathered her things. She walked around the bar and nudged Tonks, who had started to doze off. "Get up, Tonks, it's time to go home." She reached up and took the bottle, stuffing it in her bag after corking it to give back to the older girl later.

Tonks blinked blearily and nodded, dragging herself off the stool. Hermione let the Auror lean on her as she led her outside into the cool night air. Slowly, they made their way to the apparation point in Diagon Alley and it was at this point that Hermione was met with a dilemma. Tonks was in no condition to apparate herself home, and Hermione didn't know where the Auror lived in order side-along her home.

Going through the options, she decided to just take the girl back to Godric's Hollow with her and let her sleep it off in the guest room. She just hoped Lily wouldn't mind.

Decision made, Hermione thought of home and the two disappeared with a small _crack_.

They reappeared again on the sidewalk in front of the rebuilt Potter House and Tonks promptly doubled over and vomited the contents of her stomach all over the sidewalk. Hermione sighed, cleared the mess with a wave of her hand and then helped the older woman into the house and up the stairs to the guest bedroom. Tonks collapsed onto the bed with a groan and Hermione went down to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of hangover cure out of the potions cabinet, returning to the room to set it beside the bed along with a glass of water.

She noticed at the Auror was still fully dressed and set about removing her boots and coat, then helped her out of her shirt and pants, which she would throw in the wash for her to wear in the morning; there was a bit of sick on them. It was lucky that Hermione had the day off tomorrow – well, today technically, since it was already close to two in the morning – and would be there when Tonks finally woke up, so as to keep her from freaking out about waking up in naught but her knickers.

As she was tucking the blankets around Tonks, the woman woke slightly and smiled at her. "Thanks, 'Mione...yer a good friend..."

Hermione chuckled softly. "Don't mention it, Tonks, just sleep it off, yeah? Everything will be okay in the morning."

Tonks shook her head. "Will Harry be there?"

Hermione shook her head sadly, but Tonks had her eyes closed and couldn't see it. "No," she finally managed to croak out, her throat constricting as thoughts of Harry's death came back to her full force. "No, he won't"

Tonks nodded, a few tears slipping from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. "Then how will it be okay?"

Hermione sighed and wiped her own eyes. "I don't know, Tonks, but it will. It has to be."

Tonks nodded this time. "I jus'...can' believe he's really gone."

Hermione nodded again, mimicking the other woman. "Me neither."

"I'd jus' seen 'im that mornin'," Tonks went on. "Then, not a few hours later...he's dead." Hermione didn't say anything. What was there to say? It was obvious that Harry's death had hit Tonks just as hard as it had hit Hermione. The difference was that Hermione had a child to look after and couldn't allow herself to be consumed by grief. Tonks, on the other hand, had no one. Sure, she had her parents, and her friends, but she had no one that she had to be strong for, except herself. "D'you think he knew?"

Hermione started at the question, having thought that Tonks had fallen back asleep. "Knew what?" she asked, curious.

"D'you think he knew that I loved him?"

Tonks voice was so clear in that moment, almost sober, but Hermione could still see the drunken shine in her eyes that were now opened slightly and peering up at her. "I don't know, Tonks."

"I never told him," Tonks went on. "How could I? He loved you, after all, and you loved him. Maybe if I had met him first, it might have been different, but it was always you..." A few more tears slipped out. "I wanted to say somethin', but it just never felt like the right time. Even after he was locked up and I would visit him, I never said anything about how I felt...I couldn', it just felt like I didn't have the right."

Hermione's head was spinning. Here she was, listening to a woman she had called friend for some years now confessing that she had been in love with her, Hermione's, boyfriend/lover. Had she learned of this before all of this, she probably would have been a bit angry and more than a little protective of her relationship, but as it was, what with Harry now being dead, all she could feel was something between pity and sympathy. Sure, there was a flare of what felt almost like jealousy, especially since Tonks had been able to visit Harry in Azkaban, but she shoved that down. Tonks was her friend, and she was hurting, and Hermione, for all of her faults, was never one to let a friend suffer without at least trying to help; the only problem was that she didn't know how to help.

"I'm sure he knew," Hermione finally answered. "Harry was a very observant man. Even if you never said it, your actions in staying by him, even when he was in prison would have told him that you cared."

Tonks nodded, slower this time, her eyes sliding closed again and her breathing becoming more steady. "I wish...I had told him...just once..." Then, she was asleep again and Hermione was left with her thoughts.

She stood up and left the room, dousing the lights on her way out and closing the door.

She went into the nursery and checked on Hugo, who was sleeping soundly in his own little bed. On nights when Hermione had to work, Lily would pick up the baby from Hermione's parents and bring him back. Assured that her babe was fine, she went downstairs and made herself a cup of tea, adding a bit of whiskey from what remained of Tonks' bottle to it.

She sat quietly and sipped her tea, her thoughts running wild with what to make of Tonks' confession and her own feelings for Harry. It was this train of thought that saw her weeping quietly into her tea, wondering how and why things had become so wrong. Harry was gone now, and where he was, only he and whatever gods may be, could know. Wherever he was, she could not follow.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered to herself. "Why? Why did you go on without me?"

 **XXXX**

In his home in Wales, Gawain Robards sat ponderously in a chair by the fire, looking at an empty pack of cigarette. It had gone empty before it was supposed to. By all rights, there should have been one more in there, and yet there was not. Normally, something like this would not bother him too much, but given the strange day he had had in Dartmoor, he was noticing the small things.

He didn't know why he had fallen unconscious in that cairn, and he didn't know why there was a cigarette missing from his pack, but he had the odd feeling that the two were somehow connected...in some way. He just didn't know how, yet.

"Am I finally losing my mind, Mary?" he asked aloud. Of course, he received no answer, but that didn't surprise him. There was never an answer. There hadn't been for several years now. That didn't mean that he was any less disappointed by the silence that greeted him. He sighed, glancing at the pictures that hung on the walls. The whole place seemed to be filled with memories, echoes of a time that had since passed him by and left him standing all but alone.

He took a swig from the bottle in his hand to fight off the demons that clawed at his mind. Maybe tonight he might actually sleep and feel rested. He doubted it, but he could hope...or at least try to. Hope was a rare commodity these days and he had not been able to come by it in some time. Another drink might help him on his way though, he told himself.

With that in mind, he took another swig and continued to ponder the mystery of the missing coffin nail...cigarette...whatever.

 **XXXX**

Darkness, that all that he could see, in every direction. Up, down, left, right, forward, behind. Nothing, just the big, black, empty void. And yet, he had the distinct feeling that he wasn't alone. Like someone was watching him.

What he couldn't shake, and by far more disconcerting, was another feeling; the feeling that he had been here before...wherever here was. Like something from a half-remembered dream.

What was stranger still than all of this was his lack of a body. He looked down at himself, only to find that he was not there. Oh, he could feel himself, his arms and legs, head and hands, but he could not see it. It was like he was invisible or something.

He spun in a circle. Still nothing.

He could feel the ground beneath his feet, and yet there was no ground and he had no feet. Something in his memory told him that this was familiar, all of these contradictions that were somehow true. Something about a paradox...

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Potter."

He gasped.

On the stone table beneath the earth, the body of Harry Potter stopped breathing.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. You know, it feels weird for me to write about someone else other than Hermione having feelings for Harry. Not a bad weird, just different, I guess. That being said, I really feel bad for Tonks; I know what unrequited love feels like and what it feels like to lose that love.**

 **Now, to understand the ending of this chapter and the beginning of the next, you'll need to have read the one-shot 'God on God'. Or not. It's up to you.**

 **Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Leave me some feedback.**

 **Until next time.**

 **Important characters introduced in this chapter:**

 **Barty Crouch Jr. (portrayed by David Tennant)**

 **Harry Potter (portrayed by Daniel Radcliffe)**

 **Death (portrayed by Mads Mikkelsen)**


	4. Down Among the Dead Men

**IV. Down Among the Dead Men**

Harry spun about once more as the voice, one he could swear he had heard before, spoke, reverberating through the nothing, everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Ah, this time is different than before. You see, and yet you do not see; your eyes are open and yet they are closed; such is the way of mortals, I have learned."

Harry looked about him frantically, his senses on high alert. "Where are you?"

"My boy, you know where I am. I am here, and not here; there but not there; everywhere and nowhere. I am _here_."

Harry ground his teeth, and yet he didn't. "You speak in riddles! Untwist your tongue and speak plainly."

The voice laughed and Harry felt his ire grow. It was a bit overwhelming; it had been a long time since he had felt anything but the cold and damp and emptiness. Where was he? Was he still in his cell in Azkaban? That was the last thing he remembered, being in his cell, listening to the fading footsteps of his most loyal friend as she walked away, head bowed and cheeks damp, just as she always did.

Perhaps it was unfair for him to say as such. Nymphadora was loyal, there was no denying it, but was it right to say that she was more loyal than the others? He did not know, for he had not heard anything from the others since he went into the hole. Nymphadora had spoken of them though, told him that they were scattered to the winds, gone their separate ways. The dream was dead, it would seem, and yet she remained close at hand, always whispering that she would find a way to get him out, somehow.

With this in mind, he wondered where Hermione was. He had heard so little of her. She was alive, that much he knew, but Nymphadora seemed to either not know of her goings on, or was unwilling to tell of it. He wondered why. Had she moved on and found another life for herself? Another love, perhaps? The thought sent a cold lance through his chest and he felt that fire rise in him again, warming his nonexistent form.

"You're anger serves you well. Good, hold on to it. You'll need it. It will keep you warm when all other light has gone out. The fire that gives life or destroys all."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, still trying to find the source of the alarmingly familiar voice that seemed to come from within him and all around him at the same time.

"You have asked this question before," the voice told him, "and I shall answer you now as I did then: I exist and yet do not exist, both inside and outside of time, within the universe yet not a part of it, everywhere and nowhere all at once. But I am always _here_."

Harry's 'head' began to hurt as memories that had been deeply buried tried to burst forth from the depths of his mind. It was like when you were trying to think of a particular word or answer and you could swear that it was just on the tip of your tongue, and yet for the life of you you could not grasp it.

"You have solved this riddle before, Mr. Potter, and you can do so again. Do not try to force the memory, just accept that it is there and the rest will come naturally."

"Why can't I see anything?" Harry asked, trying to distract himself from the past that would not reveal itself.

"Because you are not looking," the voice replied. "There is so much around and within you right now, and yet you have closed your eyes to it. Too long in a darkness not of your own and it has robbed you of control. You now stand apart of the shadows you once called your own and thus are blinded by them. Remember who and what you are and perhaps, in time, you may see again."

Harry frowned, or imagined that he did. What did any of this mean? He cursed Azkaban, not for the first time, for the damage it had done to him. He could not think as quickly or as clearly as he once could. But, having to live each day recalling the darkest times of one's life for two years – or so he was told by Nymphadora – would do that to you.

"You will not leave this place until you understand," the voice said. "You have been here for some time already, and yet this is the first you are aware of it. You may not think it, but that is progress."

"What must I understand?" Harry asked, his form aching slightly for a moment. "Why am I here? Why is this happening?"

"You will know when you understand," the voice returned. "As for the why, it is as it must be. All lost souls must be made to understand, else they cannot go forward, or backward."

Harry's head started hurting again. "Forward...backward...lost..." he gasped, something clicking in his mind. "Am I dead?"

The sound of clapping reached his ears and he spun about once more. This time he was not alone. There was a man walking toward him out of the void. His skin was pale and his face vaguely skull-like. He had dark hair that was pulled back, a short goatee adorned his chin and eyes as dull and empty as those of a doll or shark stared out from that skeletal face. No pity, no remorse, no love, no hate. Nothing. He was dressed in some sort of dark robe that clung to him like a shadow, twisting and shifting in an invisible breeze.

"One step closer, Mr. Potter," the man said.

Harry was suddenly bombarded by images, flashes of another time when he and this same man, and yet not exactly the same, had traded words in some place beyond time. He bent over gasping as the pain of the sudden barrage became almost unbearable.

"You..." he wheezed. "You're Death."

The man smiled with no happiness or warmth, but no malice either and the void around them flickered into the form of a familiar office-like room before becoming the void once more. "I am Death, yes." Harry almost laughed. That was the first straight answer he had ever received from the man – was he really a man, or did he just appear as one?

"So, I am dead." It wasn't a question this time. "That means that I am in the afterlife?"

Death shook his head. "Yes, and no. You are here after your death, and thus after your life, so in that sense, yes this can be called an afterlife, but it is not the place that departed souls go, and yet that place is part of this, it is here, but not here. What you see around you is the very fabric of reality, of the Universe. Undeveloped and barren life. The Void, Chaos, Ginnungagap. The purest form of creation. Some would say that I created it, others that it created me, but neither of these is true, but both are also true. It and I have always existed, and shall always exist, without the other, neither of us would be, and yet, if neither of us were to be, nothing would be, but nothing is something, is it not? So, by that definition, everything would be."

As he said these words, Harry closed his eyes, but didn't. Either way, it did no good for him, for the darkness remained, and so did Death.

"So, the darkness is the essence of life?" Harry pondered aloud, looking around at the void.

"Essentially," Death answered with an upturn of the lips.

"Then what of the light? What role does it play in all of this?"

Death smiled and Harry felt a chill shoot through him at the sight. "The light was created by those who could no longer see. They rejected the darkness and thus they were blinded by it. So, they sought a way to see again, and thus the light came into being, out of the darkness itself, for though they did not understand it, the darkness still provided." He gestured to the Void around them. "They say that there is no darkness without light, but this is a lie; one of the oldest lies. There is no light without darkness, for the darkness created it for those who could no longer see in the dark. So few now understand the darkness and thus the light is everywhere, but it is still a creation from the Void. The darkness came first, and it will always be, even when the light goes out."

Harry shook his head, trying to process this. "But you told me earlier to hold on to my anger as it would be a light for me."

Death nodded. "I did. I told you this, because you still need it. You have not yet found your way back to the dark, and thus you still require the light to see. There was a time when you did not need it, but that time is neither here nor now. As I also said earlier: remember who and what you are, and perhaps, in time, you may see again."

"You mean, when I was a monster, I could see, but now that I tried to change, I am blinded?" Death nodded. "You want me to be that again? The monster."

Death shrugged. "A human by any other name..." Harry gaped at him, or at least he would have if he had a mouth. Death went on, "The light needs the darkness, else it is pointless and does not exist, and you are a part of that darkness, and always will be, you just need to accept it."

Harry looked down, staring into the void at his feet, or where his feet would be. Did he want to become that person again? The demon that killed without thought or remorse, the scourge of the light. It had always thrilled him, to see them afraid of him. They feared what they didn't understand and he was the ultimate enigma. Born in darkness and molded by it. That was what he had said to Voldemort before he and his brothers had finally killed him.

He could become that man again, he knew, and feel better for it. But at what cost? Would he lose the love and loyalty of those he called friend, brother, lover? He shook his head. That sort of thinking led to indecision and indecision led to disaster. He had fallen into a state where that was every moment. He would second guess his own mind and change plans to suit the morals of others. It slowed him down, made him weak. Yes, he decided, he could become that man again; he _would_ become that man again. He realized that he had been denying himself his true nature.

When he looked up he found Death smiling that unnatural smile that never even got close to reaching those dead eyes. It was then that he made another realization. Death was serving itself in this. It did not care about him, and he would be a fool to think so. To it he was just a tool, but Death was a tool to Harry as well, in that he used Death to achieve his ends, killing those who stood in his way. They were using each other, and it seemed, it had always been that way. A vicious cycle that would never end. Just like life and death, the beginning and the end. An ever turning wheel.

"You are finally beginning to understand," Death said. "Now, open your eyes."

Harry had not realized that his eyes were closed until now. And he wondered how it had escaped his notice. Slowly, he peeled them open and gasped as what he saw before him. Within the Void, he could now see pinpricks of light and swirling masses of life. The universe laid out before him, spinning, limitless in its shape and size.

"It is a beautiful sight, is it not?" Death said, smiling still; his attire had changed, he stood now in a simple black double-breasted coat that hung down to his knees and his hair was shorter and well-groomed. "And yet, it is not as it was before. I cannot describe to you how it all looked before the light came to be. There are no words for it, in any tongue. Perhaps there will come a day when mortals no longer need the light, but that time is neither here nor now." He turned to face Harry directly. "You now stand in the darkness, and can see the light for what it is, a crutch for those who can no longer see their true selves. As I have done for you, you may do for others. Open their eyes so they way see without light once more. You may do this, or you may not. The choice is yours."

Harry nodded, but then tilted his head. "I am dead," he stated plainly. "So, how can I open the eyes of others if I am here and not there?"

Death smirked. "The answer to that is a simple one, Mr. Potter. No longer be here, but there."

"We can go back?"

Death shook his head. "No. _You_ can go back, for you are neither there nor there, but _I_ am always _here_." He spread his arms to emphasize the space around them.

Harry's head was spinning again but less violently than before. "There nor there?" He paused. "I am _here_."

"Yes," Death agreed. "Now, you must choose. Will you go _there_ ," he nodded to a door that had appeared out of nowhere, or everywhere, or...whatever, "or _there_?" He nodded to a second door that appeared on the opposite side from the other.

Harry looked at both doors. They looked exactly the same. "How do I know which goes where?"

"Think of what you desire, and the path will be clear."

"If I go back, will I remember any of this?" he asked, thinking of how he had not remembered the last time.

Death shook his head. "No, you will not remember, but you will _know_."

Harry nodded as if that made sense and thought about what he wanted to do. He thought of his friends, his brothers, his family. He thought of Hermione, of Nymphadora, of Barty, of Regulus, of Lily, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, Luna, Xeno. He felt like something shifted and he looked around, realizing that he now had a physical form and both doors were gone.

Death smiled and Harry's vision started to go dark around the edges, like he was on the verge of passing out. "Sleep well, Mr. Potter, it's time to wake up."

 **XXXX**

Regulus' head jerked up as a sound like a gasp cut through the silence. He looked around him, eyes settling on Barty, who looked as alarmed as he felt. As one, they looked over toward Harry's body, laying where they had left it on the stone slab.

Barty was on his feet with a swiftness that belied his weakened state and he ran toward their little brother, Regulus hot on his heels.

What they found struck them both cold. Harry was laying there, eyes wide open, unseeing and his chest no longer rising and falling. Regulus immediately began checking for a pulse, and cursed when he found none.

The muggles had a method to resuscitate the dead within a time after death, but from what little he knew of it, it was dangerous and only worked a small percentage of the time if performed immediately after the heart stopped. On top of that, he didn't even know if it worked for all forms of death or just certain ones, like heart attacks. He didn't even know what to do.

Barty, it seemed, had some idea because he pushed Regulus aside and began performing compressions of some sort on Harry's chest, where his heart was. This went on for some time before Barty's arms no longer had the strength in them to do anything at all. He fell back and Regulus stepped in and began to imitate what he had seen.

It was several minutes later that he finally gave up and fell back too. He and Barty lay there on the floor and fought with their breath to keep the onset of grief at bay.

This couldn't be happening. To go through all of this, from the two years spent in hell to finally getting them out into the free air once more, only for Harry to go and die anyway. Regulus had long ago learned that life was not fair, but this was just cruel.

Barty, it seemed, was less prepared to fight off his grief and was curled in on himself, his whole, thin body wracked with sobs. His thoughts tended the same as Regulus', but more angry. During their time in Azkaban, he would often speak, not knowing if Harry could hear him, but speaking nonetheless. He would say things. Things like "we'll get out of here, Harry, you'll see." or "we've been through worse than this, mate" or "Ain't no damned prison gonna keep us down, mate. You'll see". Now, he felt like all of that was being thrown back in his face. Harry had been all but vacant when they made their escape, but he had been alive at least. Now, he was gone. Truly gone.

Regulus looked over as he heard Barty growl, and saw the younger man pulling himself up to his feet once more, his eyes alight for the first time since he had gone into Azkaban. He leaned against the stone table and looked down at Harry, snarling. "You don't get to get out of this that easy, you son of a bitch." He balled up a fist. "You wake the hell up!" He slammed his fist down into the center of Harry's chest. "Come on," he sneered. "stop being a coward and get up!" Another strike. "You ain't gonna leave me here to deal with all of this by myself." Another hit. "Wake up!" He slammed his fist down again and Regulus reeled back as Harry suddenly gave a cry and began thrashing about.

Barty stumbled away from the youngest of the three, one hand covering his cheek where one of Harry's hands had struck him.

Both moved back in to try and retrain him, but it did little good so they both backed off just as quickly.

As fast as it began, it was over and Harry lay panting on the table, his eyes open and wild, but becoming clearer and more focus with ever moment that passed. Finally he turned his head toward them and his eyes roved over them. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"Harry?" Regulus asked, slowly moving toward the younger man, wary but concerned. "That you, mate?"

Harry met his eyes and nodded minutely. He opened his mouth again but only the faintest of sounds was heard.

Regulus leaned down and placed his ear close to Harry's mouth as he tried to speak again. "Wa...ter..." It was so soft that it was little more than a breath, but Regulus heard it and summoned a cup from their supplies and magically poured water into it, holding it up to Harry's lips, where he began to drink greedily from the small wooden cup.

The cup was filled and drained three times before Harry was sated.

He sat up and looked around him, taking in the fire and the earthen walls. This was not Azkaban. The mere fact that Barty and Regulus had not disappeared, as mirages tend to do, lent credence to that fact. That, and he couldn't feel the creeping cold and draining pull of the Dementors for the first time in two years.

He made to move his feet but found them unable to separate. He looked down and frowned, glaring at the ropes that bound his feet together. Regulus noticed and went to unbind them, cutting them away with a quick _Diffendo_.

Harry lowered himself down off the table, his legs giving way as soon as he let his full weight fall upon them and Regulus' quick reflexes were all that kept him from collapsing to the floor. He grimaced as his entire body protested against his movements but he kept his teeth clenched and held his tongue from any protests save the occasional hiss or grunt as he was helped over to the fire and lowered into a chair.

Now that he was near the fire, he was acutely aware of the slight chill in the air and in his bones. It was nowhere near that of Azkaban and felt downright comfortable by comparison but the fire filled him with a warmth he had not felt in a long long time. Something about it bothered him though, and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why.

Brushing off that thought he closed his eyes for a moment and started minutely when he felt something brush against his hand. He opened his eyes to find Barty in front of him, holding a steaming mug toward him, just a few inches from his hand.

Harry nodded to his oldest friend and took the cup gratefully, letting even more warmth spread through him from his fingertips.

"It's just tea, mind," Barty said, his voice rough from two years of almost no use. "No honey yet. Kreacher's supposed to bring some soon but it could be a some time yet...well, maybe a few days...at most."

Though his speech patterns were the same as before, Harry immediately noticed the lack of the usual spark that Barty spoke with. It had taken some time for Barty to go quiet in Azkaban. For the first few weeks, he was always making some sort of racket, whether it be shouting abuse at the guards as they went through on patrol or dropping off food, or even singing whatever song came to mind at the top of his lungs. Toward the end that had tapered off and he was left halfheartedly singing the same song over and over. Harry remembered it well, actually – it was an old drinking song called 'Down Among the Dead Men'. Fitting, or so Harry had thought at the time. Looking around at where they were now, it didn't seem so out of place, still.

Speaking of, "Where are we?" he croaked out after taking a swallow of the hot tea, the warmth doing a wonder of good for his throat.

It was Regulus who answered, as Barty just kind of shrugged, as if he hadn't really wondered that until now. "Godelot's Barrow," he said, adding another log to the fire. "Underneath Hereward's Cairn. It was built sometime during before the Dark Ages, when there was still a predominant pagan influence in the realm. In the late Dark Ages, Godelot was interred here, and as he was the most famous at the time, the place took on his name. Whatever it was called before that is lost to the ages. His son, Hereward, was the one who had the Cairn outside added on before his own death and burial here. However, the Barrow is still called Godelot's Barrow, in spite of this; or at least it would be if anyone even remembered it was here."

"If no one remembers, then how did you know it was here?" Barty asked.

Regulus shrugged. "I didn't. It was Malcolm and Tiber who showed me here. I think Tiber's family owns this land or something. It'd be more likely as he's the only one who lives near here."

"If he lives nearby, why are we here and not there, where we can sleep in a real bed?" Barty pressed, a small bit of life coming back into his voice, but just barely.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. "I said he lived near here, I didn't say he was close by." As Barty opened his mouth to point out the flaws of that logic, Regulus cut him off. "He doesn't even live in this Shire. We're in Devon, just so you know, and he lives just outside of Greater London, in Essex. Malcolm lives in Scotland and Fergus is in Ireland. None of them are far enough removed to be able to safely take us in, so, we are here."

Regulus' last words gave Harry pause, but he, again, couldn't figure out why. But, he had something more pressing to ask. "Who are Tiber, Malcolm and Fergus?"

Barty latched on to this question too. "Yeah, do tell. I only saw the grumpy one."

Regulus sighed and rubbed his eyes. He really didn't want to get into this yet. "Tiberius, Malcolm and Fergus are friends of mine," he started. "Well, sort of. Friends might be a bit of a stretch but we are allies nonetheless and we get on just fine. I can't go into too much detail at the moment, but I can tell you that they were instrumental in getting you two out of Azkaban."

Harry nodded, a dark look entering his eyes. Why was it that three strangers had been the ones to get him out? Where were his friends and family? Where was Hermione? What kept them from getting him out on their own? Were they even involved in this? Did they even know? He doubted it. Nymphadora had told him about Bill and Fleur moving to France, and Charlie going back to Romania. Luna was off who-knows-where with some man named Rolf; that left Xeno, Lily, Arnie and Hermione. Xeno, he knew was still working at the Quibbler, which had apparently become quite popular following its coverage of his trial, and Arnie was working at the Ministry still, though he had become a Hit-Wizard rather than stay an Obliviator. Lily was working her own business, Enchanted – the service was in the name, Nymphadora said – and Hermione...well, he didn't know. He knew she was alive and well, and still in England, but that was all.

"Where are the others?" he asked, He hadn't been planning to voice the question, at least not yet, but it seemed his voice had other plans.

Regulus looked at the fire for a moment, then met Harry's eyes. "They've moved on with their lives, Harry. And now, they think you both dead." At Harry's frown, he sighed. "Kreacher!"

A small _pop_ signaled the arrival of the old Elf and he bowed deeply. "Master Regulus is being calling Kreacher?" He caught sight of Harry and bowed lower. "Master Harry, it is being good to see you again."

Harry smiled softly at the old Elf. "Hello, Kreacher."

Regulus spoke next. "Kreacher, we require a few particular items. I'll make you a list, but for the moment, could you get us a copy of the Prophet and the Quibbler? They have reported our success, yes?"

Kreacher nodded. "Yes, Master Regulus, they has."

"Good," Regulus replied. "Fetch them, please."

With another bow, the Elf was gone, only to return a moment later with two newspapers in his hand. He handed them to Regulus, who dismissed him until later.

He handed the papers to Harry, who looked at the headlines with hollow eyes.

 **HARRY POTTER AND BARTY CROUCH JR. DEAD!**

 **God of Death and Hangman both die in Azkaban**

The headline of the Quibbler was much the same, though slightly skewed in Harry and Barty's favor, proclaiming:

 **HEROES OF WIZARDING WORLD DEAD**

 **Two Men Who Defeated Dark Lord Die In Prison**

Harry quickly read through the articles before tossing them aside. He had stared briefly at the picture of his and Barty's 'corpses' but did not linger on it. He would ask later. Whatever they were, they were damned convincing, as they had managed to fool both Nymphadora and Robards, neither of whom were easily misled.

With the way the Prophet practically crucified Nymphadora, perhaps her emotions at the time had played a part in at least fooling her. But, it also said that Robards thoroughly inspected both bodies himself and declared them dead of natural causes. It seemed that in the Wizarding World, it was an Auror's job to perform a magical 'autopsy' rather than a healer; he wondered if this was because the Ministry didn't trust the Healers, who were not required to release information to the Ministry or papers, or because they just didn't care enough to bother with a proper autopsy – or what passed for one in the magical world, he honestly hadn't given it much thought, ever; he knew that many wizards viewed the practice of cutting open the dead to find out the cause of death to be 'barbaric and disrespectful'. Harry of course didn't agree. The body was just a shell for what humans called a 'soul' and once they were dead, the body didn't matter as the soul was gone, so there was no disrespect to the person if the part that made them who they were was gone already.

Barty picked up the papers and read through them himself. "How are there bodies, if we're here?"

Regulus groaned, not really wanting to explain it all right now. With all of the sudden excitement of Harry waking up, he was feeling tired. On top of that, Harry looked like he was ready to drop off again himself.

Harry tried to stand and winced, falling back into the chair with a hiss. Regulus was on his feet a second later, helping the youngest of their little family to his feet and leading him to the second bedroll that had been prepared; it was actually the one Regulus himself used but Harry didn't know that.

Harry sighed gratefully as he was laid down, his head resting on the small pillow there. It wasn't as comfortable as a bed would be, but it was better than that stone slab he had been on, and way better than his thin roll at Azkaban ever had been. This was closer to what he had had when he was living below the dungeon in Malfoy Manor. It was familiar and comforting. If he could douse the fire but keep the warmth, he would do so, but that wouldn't work, and Barty looked like he needed the fire more than Harry even did.

Regulus went back to his seat by the fire and sat down again. Barty was back to looking at the newspapers, now that Harry was looking like he would be asleep in a few moments. It was his watch anyway.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the fatigue of extended inactivity overcoming him and soon he was lost to the world.

Regulus went over and laid himself down as well. "You got this, Barty?" he asked, laying his head back on the pillow.

Barty nodded, setting the papers aside. "Yeah, I think I can manage. I'll wake you if anything comes up. I should get started on that list for Kreacher too." He didn't sound very enthusiastic, but spending a couple of years in Azkaban would do that to you. Most people went completely mad in there after a few months, but a few managed to last longer than others. Harry had withdrawn into himself and Barty had resisted with enthusiasm, but in the end, it took its toll on both of them and it showed. Neither was the men they used to be, and probably never would be again.

It was a sad thought for Regulus, who considered these two as his brothers in all but blood and as the eldest of the three, if only by a few months, he considered it his duty to look after them. It bothered him that they had suffered so, and it had taken him so long to get them out. Before that, he had let them think him dead for several years before revealing himself to Barty and bringing him into his plans. All in all, he felt he had not been a good brother to them and he wanted make up for that as best as he could. He just hoped they weren't cross with him when they learned the price to be paid for their new-found freedom.

It was going to be a long few years for them yet and who knew what would happen along the way.

As he laid there, he heard a soft voice singing. He knew it was Barty, singing that song that he had sung so often to himself in Azkaban. It was habit at this point and Regulus wondered if Barty even knew that he was doing it any more.

" _Here's a health to the king, and a lasting peace,_

 _To faction's end and wealth increase._

 _Come, let us drink while we have breath,_

 _for there's no drinking after death._

 _And he who will this health deny,_

 _Down among the dead men, down among the dead men._

 _Down, down, down, down,_

 _down among the dead men let him lie!"_

Regulus drifted into slumber as Barty continued into the second verse of the song, the words echoing off the walls in a haunting manner, unheard even by his own ears.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N:Finished early, so you all get two chapters this week!**

 **Another chapter down, this time focused almost exclusively on the Three Brothers, Harry, Barty and Regulus. No, that's not a coincidence, either.**

 **I know there are a whole slew of questions to be answered here, and we'll get there soon enough. There will be a bit of a time-skip coming up soon, as I am not the type to bore my readers with tedious chapters of training and the like. When I read, those are enough to turn me off of a story because they are usually overlong, dull and repetitive. So, most of the training and such that Harry and Barty will go through will be 'off-screen', as is my wont.**

 **Now, for those who didn't understand the beginning of this chapter, you should head over to my one-shot/deleted scene 'God on God' for a proper introduction to the character of Death (why is there no character selection for Death on here? He was a character in the books, even if he didn't physically appear; he was important).**


	5. Four in Two

**V. Four in Two**

Hermione was in the kitchen preparing a light lunch for herself when Tonks decided to finally stumble into the room, her hair still the long, darker, natural color it had been the night before, as if the older girl couldn't muster the energy or will to wear it in any of the bright and unusual colors she usually did. Hermione glanced at the older girl, who looked a bit groggy but all in all looked better than she would have had Hermione not had the foresight to leave her a hangover potion on the bedside table. Her clothes had been washed and left out for her earlier that morning as well.

It was nearer to mid-afternoon now but with as much as whiskey as Tonks' had taken in last night, it was no surprise to Hermione that she had slept so long.

"Mornin'," Tonks mumbled as she caught sight of Hermione, who smiled back at her. Tonks had been concerned when she first awoke, not knowing where she was and waking in naught but her knickers. Those were bad signs in her book, especially after a night of drinking. She was always careful not to let herself get too pissed, just so she could avoid those sorts of situations. But, after taking the potion and finding her clothes she had wandered out into the hall and seen a few photos hanging there. Hermione and Lily were featured in almost all of them, so she had relaxed.

Hermione watched with thinly veiled concern as Tonks poured herself a cup of tea from the teapot on the table and dropped into a chair, rubbing her eyes weakly. Contrary to popular belief, hangover potions didn't work instantly. It took a good fifteen to twenty minutes for the effects to really kick in and do away with all of the symptoms. So, with that in mind, Tonks would still have a headache and possibly a weak stomach, though they would get better by the minute until they were completely gone.

Tonks sipped her tea gingerly. "Thanks, by the way," she said after a moment. Hermione looked back at her and raised a brow in question. "For bringing me back with you last night," she clarified.

Hermione waved it off and brought a small plate of sandwiches over to the table, taking one for herself. Tonks would no doubt be hungry too, once her stomach settled. "Don't mention it, Tonks," Hermione dismissed. "What are friends for?"

Tonks shook her head. "Still." She groaned. "I don't even remember it. Last I recall we were taking a shot of something with your boss, after that it's a bit fuzzy, then the rest is all black."

Hermione hummed around a mouthful of sandwich, shrugging. "There isn't much to tell after that, anyway," she lied. "You just kept drinking and fell asleep on the bar. I woke you up and brought you back here, where you passed out again."

Tonks groaned again and rubbed her head. "How much of a fool did I make of myself?"

Hermione shrugged. "Being honest, you were nowhere near the worst of the lot," she said, thinking of some of the more... _wild_ regulars. There had been more than a few passed out on the floor and at least three fights, though those ended with the combatants laying there not able to remember why they were fighting in the first place. The Wyvern had a policy on fighting, as set down by Malcolm himself, and that was to just let it run its course and not get involved, unless spells started getting thrown. It had happened a couple of times since Hermione had started there but it was rare that the brawls escalated beyond simple scrapping.

Tonks nodded, looking a bit relieved. Hermione wondered whether or not she should bring up what she had learned from Tonks' lips in the room just above their heads. Looking at the almost downtrodden expression on Tonks' face, she had doubt that bringing it up would do either of them any good. What did it really matter now? Harry was dead and out of both of their reach. No, it didn't matter, she decided. Not anymore.

After her stomach settled Tonks ate one of the sandwiches and drank a second cup of tea, pouring a third.

"So, you're working in Knockturn Alley then?" Tonks asked, even though she already knew the answer. It was better than sitting in silence.

Hermione nodded, sipping her own tea. "Yeah. For about a year now."

"How did that happen?" Tonks queried, taking a bite of her second sandwich. She swallowed. "In a pub, no less."

Hermione shrugged. "Not really much to that story. I needed work and most places I would have gone to wouldn't hire me. See, while a lot of people see what Harry and the rest of us did as heroic, there are a lot who believe the Prophet and want nothing to do with 'Potter's Whore'. So, I went down to the Wyvern, hoping to have a drink. Tom at the Cauldron will serve me but I didn't want to have to deal with all of the staring from the patrons. So, I went into the Wyvern and sat down at the bar. The only person working was Maryn, we got to talking and she told me that the bloke who used to man the bar with her in the evenings had walked out on them when Malcolm, the owner, had punched out one of his mates after the guy got too drunk and tried to go behind the bar and get into Malcolm's personal bottles. So, I asked her what the pay and hours were like, since I had a son to take care of and all. Malcolm had just come in at the time and he offered me a part-time job with full-time pay, meaning I still get paid for my days off. I don't know why he did that, but I'm grateful for it."

"Maybe he recognized you," Tonks suggested. "After all, wasn't Harry a regular there back before he..." she trailed off before she could say 'died', her eyes going glassy.

Hermione nodded, her own eyes falling to the table and tears gathering in the corners. "Yeah, he was. Charlie and I met him there after he contacted the Order, remember. That's why I went there. It's the only pub in London I'm familiar with besides the Leakey Cauldron."

Tonks sighed as the sound of a crying child reached their ears. She blinked back tears as Hermione stood to go and check on her son. She returned a few minutes later looking relieved. "Just needed his nappy changed."

Tonks nodded. She swallowed the last of her tea before she announced that she needed to get herself back to her own home. A quick dash of floo powder later she was gone, leaving Hermione alone with a once-more napping Hugo in the house.

Not really sure what to do with herself she wandered through the house, keeping a muggle baby monitor clipped to her belt as she went, just in case Hugo woke up.

It wasn't long before boredom took over and she settled herself down in the nursery with a book to read. She had not bothered to look at the book she picked up from the shelf in her bedroom, but now that she was looking at it, she couldn't help a pang of sorrow in her heart, nor the overwhelming sense of longing for a time gone and past. It was Harry's book, the one about the Goblin Wars, the one that had sat on his desk for so long, always at hand. She couldn't remember if this was because it was a favorite of his or if he had just never bothered to put it back in its place, but it just seemed to always be there. She had seen him reading it a few times but they never really talked about it.

She opened it to a page that had been marked and smiled, seeing it was the Battle of Greenfields, which was actually an old name for the area where Glasgow would later stand – an area within the city still bore the name to this day – where the wizard Bandobras, and several others, had fought against the goblin chieftain Golfimbul. The battle ended with Golfimbul's beheading by Bandobras, which resulted in his head sailing through the air and tumbling down a rabbit hole, which was later claimed at the inspiration behind the invention of the game golf; she remembered that even muggles knew of this story, thanks to the squib Tolkien and his book _The Hobbit_ , in which Bandobras was adapted into a Hobbit of the same name, though also called 'Bullroarer', just like his real-life counterpart.

She read the chapter with a small smile on her face. The book was nowhere near as easy to read as Tolkien's book was, going into much greater detail about the battle, both the events leading up to it and the aftermath, in the way only a well-written textbook could, whereas in _The Hobbit_ the whole thing was more of an anecdote at best.

It was as she was finishing the chapter that she could hear Hugo begin to stir and fuss. She closed the book, marking her spot and setting it aside, and went over to her baby boy, picking him up out of his cradle. She fed him and carried him around the house for a bit, singing softly to him as she did until he started to doze off again, at which point she laid him back down and went back to her book.

Sometimes she envied her son, who could sleep an entire day away like it were nothing and not have a care in the world.

Shaking her head, she cracked the book back open and lost herself once more in the world of bloody battle and even bloodier peace negotiations.

 **XXXX**

"Minister made a speech today. Talked openly about the deaths of Potter and Crouch. Called it a 'victory' for the 'light' and proof of the Ministry's right to power. Not so directly on the nose on that account but the meaning was quite clear. He also spoke on the subject of Bulgaria. Said he was in talks with the ICW to allow him to send Aurors in to help pacify the region and keep the tensions from flaring into an all-out war."

Regulus nodded. "No doubt that is Scrimgeour's influence. The man is a menace in that regard. We'll have to do something about him, sooner rather than later."

Malcolm nodded his head and stroked his bearded chin. He looked down at Harry, who was still sound asleep. He had woken up long enough to eat some broth with small shreds of meat in it before falling back into slumber. His time in Azkaban had taken quite a toll on his strength and energy levels. Barty wasn't much better, but he had been awake longer and had a small headstart in the recovery department, having not fallen into a strange sort of coma like Harry had.

"Indeed. Tiberius is at the Ministry now, throwing his influence around to try and stall them for as long as he can. We aren't anywhere near ready to make our move yet, and I fear it will be some time before we are." The Scotsman looked at Harry again, as if pondering whether the boy was worth all of the work they were putting into him.

"Do you think it will do much good?" Regulus asked.

Malcolm shrugged. "Hard to say, really. Tiberius is a close personal friend of Scrimgeour, as you know, and he has his ear, and Scrimgeour has Fudge's ear, so if he plays his cards right, it may yet buy us some time. Bulgaria is important, Regulus, we can't afford to lose the region."

Regulus nodded again, but did not say anything. These were not words that were new to him. They had been spoken many times during the last two years.

After a long pause, Malcolm spoke again. "News of their deaths was met with much sadness in Knockturn Alley, as I am sure it was elsewhere. I don't know how many times a health was raised to their memories last night. His lady was working too." he nodded at Harry's form. He picked up the discarded newspaper from the day before and glanced over it all. "This one," he tapped the small photo of Nymphadora Tonks that also accompanied the article – there was one of Robards as well, but Tonks' was more prominently placed. "She was there too. Got right pissed, she did."

Regulus looked at the photo too. "Can you blame the girl? She was his friend, and she was also practically hanged for all to see by the Prophet for reacting as any friend would if they found a loved one apparently dead before them."

Malcolm gave him a stern look and Regulus could see why Barty had called him 'the grumpy one'. "I didn't say I blamed her. It's quite understandable."

"Perhaps we should get in contact with her. Tell her the truth." Regulus tossed the paper down as he spoke. "We could always use more people on the inside at the Ministry."

Malcolm shook his head, dismissing the idea. "No, her grief is useful. It sells the lie. We need the public's eyes directed off the issue, if she were to suddenly seem OK, then people may get suspicious and look deeper into the matter. That we cannot allow. Besides, we have enough inside right now that we have no issue keep track of them all. Too many pieces in play and we risk overreaching. It is not yet time to make such grand motions yet."

Regulus sighed, but agreed. "How did Hermione seem? Was she...?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No. She's a strong one, that lass. You could see her pain, but she kept a tight lid on it the whole night. I think she's not really allowing herself to grieve. She has a child to look after, after all."

"Aye, she is a strong one," Regulus seconded. He looked at Harry as well, then at Barty, who was sleeping as well, his watch ended and Regulus' begun. "She'll manage, I'm sure. It's these two I worry about. We almost lost Harry, for real this time."

Malcolm raised a brow at this information. "Tell me."

Regulus ran a hand through his hair. "He stopped breathing yesterday. As you know, he wasn't in the best shape when we got him out. He trapped himself in his mind, and save for that moment where he awoke and tried to escape, there was not so much as a peep out of him. Then, yesterday evening, he just gasped and stopped breathing altogether. I thought we'd lost him but Barty tried that muggle technique, with the chest compressions. It didn't work as Barty just tired himself out, but he kept trying and finally, just when I had given up, he was back, fully this time. He was awake and conscious, aware. He didn't try to escape again, though, thank the gods."

"Anything else happen while I was away?" the older man asked.

Regulus nodded. "Had an Auror show up in here too, yesterday morning. Robards, the other one there on the paper," he gestured to the Prophet. "He made it past the wards and all the way inside here. I stunned him quicker than a blink but he still made it in. I don't think he saw Harry or Barty, or even got a good look at me, but still. I wiped his mind and left him out in the antechamber, then hid the hallway with another ward. He looked around a bit, then left. That notebook of his, that's how he made it in, he noted the wards while fighting them and then read them after he forgot everything. There wasn't anything in there though that would warrant a return visit. I've since added a few more wards and charms to keep the place more thoroughly hidden. I doubt he could even find the place again, even if he wanted to."

"Good." Malcolm sat in quiet thought for a moment. "I think we may have to consider finding an alternative though. Just in case. Even if your added wards hold, we can't risk being discovered. We can't move them offshore until they are well enough to travel long distances, but we may have to prepare a place that is better secured. Perhaps put it under the Fidelius Charm, with only us here, Tiberius and Fergus knowing the secret. Or not even all of us. Just you, them, maybe. Keep all meetings done away from the hiding place, for security purposes, in case one of us is captured. I trust you, and Tiberius and Fergus, but there always ways to make a man talk, and the Ministry has too many of them, not the least of which is that bastard Lynch." He sneered, thinking of the Irish Auror and his unnatural ability to practically rape someone's mind just by making eye-contact, mental defenses be damned.

A moan escaped from Harry as he shifted in his sleep, then he started, his eyes snapping open with a gasp. His eyes held a faraway look for a moment before clearing and focusing on the two of them. They settled distrustfully on Malcolm.

"You all right, Harry?" Regulus asked, a worried tightness to his voice.

After a moment, Harry nodded. "Yeah. Just a dream." He didn't elaborate further. His voice was still quite raspy, but it was getting stronger with a regular intake of water, honeyed tea and warm soup. "Who is this?" he asked, still looking at Malcolm, who was looking back with unveiled interest.

"This is Malcolm," Regulus answered. "You remember, I told you about him yesterday. He was one of the one's who helped get you out."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I remember. I still don't understand why though."

"Why-?" Regulus started, but Malcolm cut him off.

"Why I helped you escape?"

Harry just nodded. He was now sitting up, looking like he might try to bolt for the exit if the answer wasn't one he liked. Regulus couldn't allow that, and he stealthily inched his fingers toward his wand, hidden under his sleeve.

Malcolm just stared back at Harry, meeting those once-vibrant green eyes without hesitation. "There is no easy answer to that question, Mr. Potter." Harry shifted but stopped when Malcolm continued. "But, I shall do my best to give one that is short and concise. The simplest answer is that we need you, and Barty."

"Why?" Harry pressed.

"Because you are a symbol," the Scotsman answered easily. "People look up to you and follow you. During your short time as leader of your small group you managed to turn not one but eight good people to your cause. Not only that, you managed to inspire them to do things that they would have previously never considered. You were able to bring out the killer in a girl who was considered little more than a brilliant mind by most. Yes, we know about her actions in all of this. It was not you who killed the Weasley boy and his sister. No, it was _her_. Sure, she was forced to resort to such measures by the situation she was put in, but had it not been for you, I don't think she would have found that part of herself and been able to fight back as she did. You managed to make an Auror place her loyalty to you over her oath as an officer of the law. You were able to get two brothers to turn against their own family to the extent that they did not protest when their younger siblings were killed by _her_." He noted Harry's wide eyes at all of the information he was giving. "We know much about you and your friends, Mr. Potter, and we know even more of your actions. Regulus has been instrumental in helping us get our wheels in motion. No, he did not tell us your secrets, but he did help us understand when we discovered the truth for ourselves."

He took a breath and pulled a small flask out of his pocket, taking a drink and then offering it to Harry, who took it after a moment of hesitation and seeing Malcolm swallow first. He sipped it experimentally, then took a full drink of it. It burned his tongue, the whiskey, but he held back the grimace it tried to force out of him. He handed it back, where it was then passed to Regulus, who took a long swallow it, hissing softly at the burning sensation it sent through him.

"Our fight is one that has been brewing for some time now, we just needed someone to help us take it all to the next level. That person is you, Harry. They have called you the God of Death, and we're going to give you the chance to make that legend grow."

Harry was quiet, the wheels turning in his head. This sounded too much like he was a tool for them, and instrument of their will, a weapon. He was done being a weapon for others to wield, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to hear the man out and possibly use them in return to achieve his own goals – though what those goals were he was not sure yet.

"You mentioned 'your fight'," he spoke softly. "What is that, exactly. What is it you hope to achieve?"

Malcolm smiled for the first time since arriving there, though it was little more than an upturning of the corners of his mouth. "In a word, Mr. Potter: Freedom." He took his flask back from Regulus and took a final drink before capping it and stuffing it back in his pocket. "A broad and vague concept, to be sure, but it is quite simple. We want freedom for the magical world. Too long have we been held under the thumb of kings and queens, tyrants who care nothing for us. And do not think that such lands as America are free, no, an elected legislation can trample men's rights as easy as any crown-wearing despot. One does not have to sit upon a throne to be a tyrant. Tell me, Mr. Potter, what know you of the situation in Bulgaria?"

Harry shook his head. "It was tense at best before I went in the hole, but I have not had opportunity to learn more since I awoke."

Malcolm leaned forward in his chair, hands resting on his knees. "Well then, let me inform you. In Bulgaria, some three years ago, there arose a group who sought to see their homeland freed from the influence of the ICW. They gained favor with the people and during the next election for Minister, their chosen representative won the vote. However, before he could properly take up the reigns of leadership, the ICW sent a force into the country and removed him from power. He was taken before the entire ICW and condemned to death for 'treason'. Now, this was after Dumbledore had stepped down as Supreme Mugwump to focus on the fight against Voldemort, so I suspect things may have gone differently had he stayed in power a bit longer, but that is neither here nor there. Tell me, Mr. Potter, what right does the ICW have to make such a move? To remove a man from his position, to which he was lawfully appointed by the people?"

Regulus had been nodding along with Malcolm, having known all of this already, but now he looked at Harry, waiting for the boy to answer the question posed to him. Harry met their gazes for a moment before he closed his eyes. He could understand where they stood on the matter. And he would be lying if he said he didn't agree that this was something terribly wrong. And he sensed that there was a greater issue at hand too. It was not just the ICW that was trampling the rights of their subjects. The British Ministry had been doing the same for some time now. It was this sort of behavior that gave rise to such Dark Lords as Grindelwald, who sought to better their kind by opposing the established powers that be.

Malcolm must have been able to read the agreement in Harry's face because he went on after a moment. "It's not just Bulgaria, as you know. Here in England it is just as bad. Your own trial is proof enough of that. You were charged with murder for the killing of those who were enemies of the crown, and by rights were to be killed or captured on sight anyway. Tell me, where is the justice in that? We need to remind them that they only hold power so long as we, the people, allow it. It is the way it is meant to be. The American Declaration of Independence has it written quite clearly: 'That whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government...' And it is not just the Declaration, no, the Magna Carta, the Mandate of Heaven, the þorgnýr Proclamation, the Golden Bull of 1222, the Summa Theologica, the Policraticus. There are many example of the Right of Revolution, and too long have we all sat silent while our voices are ignored. If they will ignore our words, then we will put them to the sword instead."

For a man who seemed so quiet – and he normally was – Harry could see that this Malcolm was quite passionate about his beliefs in this matter. He spoke with conviction and clarity, so much so that Harry felt himself, even now, swayed toward his cause.

Harry thought about it all for a long moment, wondering what stance he should take in this. All things considered, he was tired of war, but at the same time, he did not know how to live in peace, for what was peace but confusion between two wars? Ever since he could clearly remember, he had been raised for war and nothing more. And while he had opened himself up to the idea of peace, he did not fully understand it. At the end, when he had been captured and taken before the Wizengamot he had been defiant and brimming with disdain and will to fight, but he had been in no position to do so. And he would have no peace so long as he was hounded by the dogs of the law, and though right now they believed him dead, he could not go anywhere. The world knew his face, thanks to the worldwide media coverage of his return and then his trial and now his death. He would be recognized and word would get out. Sure, he could kill to protect his identity, but someone would notice that too and he would be back on the run again.

That thought in mind, he nodded. "Fine. But, know this. If I fight with you, it is _with_ you, not _for_ you. I am no one's puppet. Nor am I a weapon to be pointed and aimed. I am a man, a warrior, a leader. There are no strings on me, so don't even try pulling them."

Malcolm smirked at him, eyes lighting up slightly. "Mr. Potter, we would have it no other way. As I said, you are a symbol. People will look to you as the face of our revolution. Is that a burden you are willing to take on?"

Harry sighed. "If it must be so, then so be it."

Malcolm extended his hand to Harry, who shook his as firmly as he could with his weakened hand. Malcolm stood then and brushed some dust from his pants. "Well, I must be going now. I will need to inform Tiberius and Fergus of our alliance. Rest assured that it will not be too long before you can leave this place for a far safer location where you can be trained back up for the fight to come. I do not doubt your skills, but you have been out of the fight for a long time and must regain your strength and agility, and perhaps learn even more still." He clapped Regulus on the shoulder as he made to step past him. "Keep them well, Regulus, and yourself."

"Mr. Malcolm," Harry spoke, making the man turn back to him.

"Mr. Potter, it is just Malcolm," he said. "We are allies now."

"Then just call me Harry please. 'Mr. Potter' is my father, and I honestly hate the fucker." Malcolm nodded his consent to his. "May I ask, where did the bodies that they found in our cells come from?"

Malcolm looked at Regulus with a raised brow. He would have expected his to have told them about this. "Do the names Demetrius Prod and Barnabus Blenkinsop mean anything to you?" Harry shook his head. "Well then, no need to worry about that. Just suffice it to say that there are four men being buried in graves for two. Let's leave it at that and move on shall we? They were a means to an end, nothing more, and besides, they gave their lives freely." With that, he bid them farewell and left.

Harry and Regulus sat in silence for a time, neither speaking. Finally, it was Regulus who broke the silence. "I know he can be a bit intense, but he usually isn't that...talkative."

Harry waved it off tiredly. He could feel the fatigue creeping back up on him. He laid himself down again, sighing as he felt his aching body relax. "Who was he? The man that the ICW killed in Bulgaria?"

Regulus ran a hand through is hair. "His name was Vladimir Krum. His son, Viktor is a professional Quidditch player, or was. He resigned after his father was killed so he could take over as Head of the Family. From what little we've heard, he's been working to find a way to get justice for his father's unlawful execution, but we haven't heard much of him in some time. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Just curious. Someone like that should be remembered, don't you think? Sort of like those Irish blokes that were killed in 1916. _È_ _ir_ _í_ _Amach na C_ _á_ _sca,_ the Easter Rising. They sought freedom too...Pearse, MacDonagh, Clarke, Plunkett, Daly, O'Hanrahan, MacBride, Ceant, Mallin, Heuston, Colbert, Connolly, MacDiarmada...and so many others." He yawned widely, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as he did.

"Barty taught you much of Muggle history?" Regulus asked. He knew that Barty had touched on a lot of Muggle subjects when overseeing Harry's education, but there was much he didn't know about it all.

"Some...enough." Harry's voice was softy and thick as sleep quickly started overtaking him. Soon, he was breathing deeply and evenly, and Regulus was left alone with his thoughts.

It would be some handful of hours before he had to prepare their evening meal, so until then he had nothing much to occupy his time. It was lucky that Malcolm had had the foresight to bring some books for them to read. That man had quite the library and loved reading almost as much as Hermione did. "He likes his books." That's what Tiber had told him the first time he had visited Malcolm's home in Caithness. Well, one of his homes, anyway.

It was good that Harry had agreed to join their fight. He didn't know what would have happened if he had refused. He doubted that the others would have him killed or anything, but they could easily see him back in the hands of the Ministry, at which point he would either go back to Azkaban without any word being spoken to the public or thrown through the veil as a way of cleaning up the mess. Either outcome was basically the same.

He shook his head as he picked up a book from the stack, a muggle novel called _Les Mis_ _é_ _rables_ by Victor Hugo. There was no point in pondering what if. Harry had agreed, probably for his own reasons, but he had agreed nonetheless. That was all that mattered. He didn't worry about whether Barty would agree. He knew he would follow Harry into hell if he asked – in a sense, he already had – and given how things seemed to go for those two, he just may have to some day.

He opened the book to the first chapter and began to read, nothing but the crackle of the fire and the slow breathing of his brothers to keep him company.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. A bit of the main plot has been revealed, so, let me know what you guys think. I decided to post a bit early today since I've been up all night working on this story and want to get some sleep. I usually post at 5pm here, but I don't know if I'll be awake then since I don't sleep well and it will take me several hours yet to actually get to sleep. Anyway..**

 **Anyway, until next time,**

 **I Am Atrocity.**


	6. Murder and its Conspiracies

**VI. Murder and its Conspiracies**

Contrary to what some might think, the Auror Office was not always a place of peace, despite the fact that their very job description stated that they were keepers of the peace. There were many in-office rivalries and hierarchies. At the very top of the chain was the Head Auror himself, that being Rufus Scrimgeour. Directly below him were the senior Aurors, Sasha Savage, Rohan Williamson, Damian Lynch, Raymond Lynch and Gawain Robards. Then were the regular Aurors, like Tonks, and then the Hit-Wizards, who acted more as Ministry-sanctioned bounty hunters. This was the basic chain of command and the social construction of the office. However, there were a few who stood out of their rung, Robards being one of them.

He was a senior Auror by rank, but the others treated him more as if he were still just a common Auror. He had earned his reputation as an authority on the Dark Arts through various means, not the least of which was performing various rituals and the habit of reenacting various aspects of Dark Arts related crimes to get an idea of what the perpetrator was thinking or doing. He dabbled in dark magic on a regular basis, reading into it and performing it, so that he could better understand it. This made him a bit of a pariah within the office as no one really wanted to associate with someone who played around with such things as basically a work-related hobby.

It was this, though, that had gotten him placed on the Anti-Death Eater Task Force. That and, like some of the others, he had a personal investment in the fight. And during that time, he had been a great asset to the team. It was his disagreement with the rest of the team following the arrest of Harry Potter that saw him now in the position of being an even greater outcast than before.

Unlike the others, he did not see the farce of a trial they had given the boy as true justice. He was charged with murdering the very people they themselves were hunting down. Some of the others before that, fair enough, but given the fact that the boy had changed sides during the war and had even bloody _won_ the damned thing for them, he felt they had been a bit too harsh in their condemnation, especially since it was fueled mostly by personal resentment on the part of James and Sirius, and even a bit in regards to Savage. They held a grudge and let it blind them.

So, as was their wont, they now pawned some of the lesser jobs off on him. Like that minor disturbance in Dartmoor, any old grunt could have handled that, but no, they had sent it to him and had him trudging through the moor in search of some mystery ghost lights that he had found no real evidence of. Sure, he had encountered a few wards in a cave, but that was it. And there was the issue of the missing cigarette, which he for some reason just couldn't let go. But, beyond that, nothing. A waste of time and effort, when he could have been doing something that really mattered; like the endless stack of paperwork that never seemed to diminish. Half of it wasn't even his, and he spend the later hours of the day usually dropping off those bits onto the desks of whoever they were actually meant for.

All of this in mind, it should have come as no surprise when he found a missing-persons file on his desk that morning. Given that he had put up with this for near two years now, he just sighed and dropped into his chair after removing his coat. He rolled the sleeves of his white button-down up to the elbows and picked up the file, flipping through it almost lazily, his eyes tired and ringed with dark circles from lack of sleep; he had really hoped that he might get some sort of rest the night before, even if he had failed to do so the night before that too, but it seemed that it was not to be and he was feeling rather more haggard than usual this morning.

Even without sleeping much, he still showed up to work an hour late, as usual. Perhaps that also played a role in his outcast status, he thought, then shrugged to himself. It didn't matter either way. He wasn't going to get up an hour earlier just to keep the brass from bitching. He didn't sleep enough as it was and depriving himself of that extra hour would be detrimental to his health and work-output.

He scanned the file again, forcing his eyes to focus on the writing within. It seemed that one Demetrius Prod had gone missing, having disappeared mysteriously three days before after an argument with his wife Elsie. She reported his disappearance the next day when he didn't return. As was the case with missing witches or wizards, an extra day was given for them to turn up before anything was done; given the various means of long-distance travel available to magicals, they could be anywhere and most weren't even actually missing. But, he had now been missing three days and he had not resurfaced at home nor at any of his friends' or relatives' homes.

Gawain rubbed his face groggily and dropped the file onto his desk without a care. This really was not how he wanted to spend his day. He remembered the name Prod from somewhere and it took him a moment to remember fully, but after a look further into the file he found out why. There had been an incident back in '91 wherein Demetrius had accidentally – read: intentionally – turned his wife into a yak using a spell from a transfiguration lesson sent to him by Kwikspell. Gawain had been just a grunt at the time but had accompanied the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad out to the house, along with Obliviator Peasegood, now Hit-Wizard Peasegood, to oversee the sorting out of the incident. That had been an interesting day, so to speak, given that once Elsie was back to her normal self, Demetrius had proceeded to turn her back into a yak after she started to give him a rather thorough dressing down. The man had spent a month in a Ministry holding cell for that one.

And now, it seemed, he had gone and either left for good or been taken. Or had died. Or Elsie had killed him and hid the body – not that he'd blame her for it.

Everyone had those moments in the past that they wished never to have to go back to. This was one of them for Robards. He remembered how troublesome it had all been and had no wish to go through anything like that again. But, it would seem that he was off to Lancashire, more specifically to Burnley, to see Elsie Prod and get an idea of just what had happened before Demetrius had gone missing, considering that as far as anyone knew she was the last person to see him alive – at least in the sense that he hadn't been seen since.

He wrote down all of the relevant information into his pocket notebook and stood, grabbing his coat and draping it over his shoulder rather than put it back on yet. Really, he just couldn't be bothered to do it.

"Off to the arse end of nowhere again, eh, Taffy?"

Gawain glanced over to where Sirius and James were sitting, doing basically nothing, as they always did, giving him grins that said they knew exactly where he was off too.

"Piss off, _saeson_ , I don't time for your shite today," he growled back, not bothering to stop.

"Oh, look, James, I think the sheep-shagger is upset!" Sirius laughed, James joining him a moment later.

Gawain pulled up short, taking a deep breath. Normally, he wouldn't be bothered by their insults, but today he just wasn't feeling quite as patient as he normally was. He tossed his coat onto the nearest desk, upsetting an inkwell and knocking it into the lap of the desk's occupant, who happened to be Ray Lynch, who protested with a rather colorful expletive, though it went without regard from Robards, who was already marching over toward where the two men he once trusted to have his back in a fight were standing.

"You got a problem with me, or something to say, go ahead and say it," he demanded, standing almost chest to chest with Sirius, who had stood up from his desk at Gawain's approach. Neither Sirius nor James said anything right away so Gawain went on. "Obviously you have some sort of problem with me, beyond your general prejudice because I'm Welsh, rather than a proper feb like yourselves. Jaysus, mate, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were green. So, come on, out with it."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," James mocked from the side. "Most of us are really just wondering where your loyalty lies. You and Tonks both been rather obvious in your discontent with how we handled Potter and Crouch Jr., there's even whispers going around that Tonks might have been a bit more _involved_ than we thought." Sirius sneered at the idea of his cousin being 'involved' with a convicted criminal, not that they had had much of a family connection in the past couple of years.

Gawain snorted. "I've made no secret my stance on that matter, Potter. I don't think it's my loyalty that should be called into question. I'm not being funny, but how can anyone trust a man who would turn on his own blood like you lot did? I mean, I'm just saying, but how can any of us here trust either of you two to have our backs if you so easily turn yours on those you call family?"

By this point most of the office was stilled, watching the altercation with rapt attention. There were a few nods among the ranks as Gawain made his points, but the rest just looked uncomfortable. The general silent agreement among the Aurors was to pretend that Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. were of no relation to DMLE Head Crouch and Senior Auror Potter, and James and Sirius were known to vocally distance themselves from Harry if the subject was ever brought up – not that it often was.

James stepped up so that he was the one now standing toe-to-toe with Robards. "I may have arrested my own son, but at least I didn't kill my own wife and child."

Faster than anyone could see, Gawain had snapped out a vicious right hook, catching James full on the jaw. James reeled back but Gawain was on him quick as a blink, lashing out again to bloody the older man's lip and nose with two more strikes before he felt arms pulling him backwards and away from James, who was being helped to his feet by Sirius.

Gawain would normally have felt some pride and glee at having bloodied the arrogant bastard, but as it was he was too blinded by his rage to even really acknowledge this fact. He fought and struggled against the arms of those who were trying to haul him away from James, who now had Sirius and Damian standing in front of him while he righted himself.

"Easy there, boyo," Williamson spoke to Gawain as he and Tonks kept him back. "Let it go, let it go. This is isn't the time or place for this."

Tonks too was trying to calm him. "Robards, cool your heels before the brass takes notice."

Slowly, the haze over his vision began to lift and he was left breathing heavily, one arm locked in place by Williamson and his other arm and shoulder being pulled backward by Tonks. Once they felt him relax and he held his hands up and opened for them to see they let go and he rolled his shoulders, righting himself and his shirt.

He glared at James, who was looking at him darkly from behind his best friend and one half of the Lynch Brothers. A part of him wanted to make another move for the bastard but he shook it off and turned away, scooping his coat up from where Ray had tossed it off of his desk and stomped toward the door that lead out of the office and to the lifts.

He reached the lifts, cursing in _Cymraeg_ under his breath. He was still breathing heavier and his heart was still pounding and he couldn't restrain himself when he struck the metal grating of the lift, which had yet to arrive, with his palm. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his honey-colored hair, and then hit the call button for the lift.

The sound of boot heels on the floor reached his ears and he looked over his shoulder at Tonks, who was walking toward him from the way he had just come. "What do you want, Tonks? I'm in no mood for a lecture."

Tonks scoffed. "I actually wasn't coming out here for you at all, but even if I was, I wouldn't be lecturing you. James was bang out of line and he deserved what you gave him and more."

Gawain nodded. It had been some time since he had lost his temper like that, and James had known just the button to push to set him off. James had after all been one of those that had responded to the emergency floo call that had gone out that night. He knew all to well the effect those words would have on him. The bastard.

"You wanna talk about it?" Tonks asked as the lift arrived and the two stepped inside.

Gawain shook his head. "No."

Tonks looked like she wanted to press the issue but Gawain cut her off with a question of his own.

"You wanna talk about why you broke down so badly at Azkaban?" Robards asked in return.

"No," Tonks said immediately.

Gawain nodded. "Then you understand my answer."

Tonks nodded, understanding exactly where he stood on the matter.

"Where are you headed?" Robards asked after a long moment. They were, thankfully, alone in the lift.

"Breckland," she answered with a shrug. "Some bloke's gone missing, apparently. You?"

"Burnley," Gawain said. "Old Prod's gone missing."

"The guy who turned his wife into a yak all those years ago?"

Gawain nodded. The incident was quite famous within the Auror Office, especially since Kwikspell was still kinda new at the time and it had made the papers. Kwikspell also used it as an advert for their courses, even now, so it wasn't going to just go away any time soon.

"What are the chances we both get such rotten jobs while the rest of them get to sit cozy in the bullpen?" Tonks wondered.

"Those fucking gobshites back there like to keep us busy with jobs they can't be arsed to fuck with," he sneered as the doors to the lift opened to let them out. "Fucking southern fairies. No, offense, Tonks."

Tonks shrugged. "None taken. I was born in Birmingham, and live in Coventry, so its the Midlands for me. Not that that really matters..."

Gawain nodded. He wasn't normally one to use so many slurs but he had been grumpy all morning and James had practically stabbed a nerve, so he was not keen to filter himself right now.

"So, where were you yesterday? Not being funny, but you look like pretty terrible, mate."

Tonks shrugged. "Just wasn't feeling well, is all. Decided to stay home and sleep it off."

Gawain snorted. She had more than likely gotten pissed and had a hell of a hangover, and probably didn't even wake up until sometime in the afternoon. He was always careful to get himself a bit drunk every night, but he refrained from getting himself completely pissed. Mary had never liked it when he did that.

He shrugged that thought away and cleared his throat, speaking through slightly gritted teeth. "Well, I'm gonna get myself scarce from these parts before I end up suspended or sacked." He didn't wait for a response from Tonks and walked to the apparation zone, disappearing without even turning on the spot. He needed a smoke, and gods help him he needed it now.

 **XXXX**

It was fascinating that there was an entire underground structure hidden within Dartmoor that next to no one had known about in close to a thousand years just sitting there, undisturbed. Harry couldn't understand how such a place had all but disappeared from the annals of history.

He leaned against a stone pillar that held up the ceiling in one of the deeper rooms of the barrow. Regulus had him and Barty up and walking about for short periods at a time to help them slowly rebuild their stamina and strength. This was the first day, and Harry was already tired after only a few minutes, but he was too intrigued by the location that they were in to let himself go back to the room where their makeshift camp was set up.

In this room, there was a stone casket, more of a sarcophagus than anything, bearing the name Godelot, which had been carved into the stone with Younger Futhark Runes. In the corners of the room were four more sarcophagi, these standing upright, facing toward the center of the chamber where Godelot's body rested; upon the faces of the these stone caskets were names and carven faces, each different from the last. From what Harry could guess, based on the research he had done into the burial practices of ancient wizards, these were retainers who opted to accompany their leader into the grave in order to protect and serve him in death as they had in life.

It was lucky for Harry that he was not planning to desecrate or rob this tomb, so thus far the guardians had remained silent and at rest. He wondered if the old magic of imbuing the guardians with a form of undeath had lasted over the long years since they were cast.

With the state he was in at the moment, he'd rather not take chances that the ritual spellwork was still going strong.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the pillar and walked over to the wall, where he had found some rather interesting artwork. Several scenes carved into the walls that portrayed images of several deities related to death in some way. He was currently looking at a large mural depicting the Morrígan, the Phantom Queen, the Lady of War and Darkness. She represented fate, doom and death in battle, but also of sovereignty and the land, and most importantly – next to death – birth. The mural showed her in her various forms – a raven, a wolf, a vulture, an eel, a cow and a horse, and at the center, a terrible but beautiful woman; at her feet were the bodies of the fallen, her bounty.

Harry looked over the carven image with an almost longing eye. For a moment, he felt his hand itching to hold his wand again and to feel the rush of power as he fought and killed. It seemed so long ago that he had been a hound of war, bringing death and fear wherever he walked. Now, he was lucky if he could walk thirty feet without becoming winded.

He unclenched his fist and turned away from the images, slowly making his way around the room. Wotan was on the opposite wall from the Morrígan with his two ravens and two wolves and a mass of fallen warriors at his own feet. These two murals took up entire walls on either side of the room, leaving the smaller sections for gods and goddesses less known to the area at the time of their carving. The common theme was that they were all representatives of war and death; given Godelot's legacy as a wielder of the Elder Wand, supposedly a gift from Death himself to Antioch Peverell, and the trail of bodies he had left, this was not surprising.

Looking between the two largest figures, he found himself thinking about Hermione. He had been called the God of Death, a pretentious title that he himself had not chosen, but standing there he began to realize that death was not primarily masculine, as represented by the Morrígan and even the Valkyries and Freya. So, if he was the God of Death, did that, by default, make Hermione the Goddess?

His first thought after that question crossed his mind was that she had yet to earn such a title. She had killed yes, but no one outside of his circle of friends and followers and the Order knew that. Her own kills had been attributed to him by the press.

Regardless, he missed her something fierce. Or at least he thought he did. He couldn't feel much of anything right now and he hadn't since he woke up. He had moments of emotion, but the rest of the time it was like it had been in Azkaban, just without the creeping, draining cold of the Dementors.

It had only been a few days since he had woken up so he didn't expect to get better overnight, but, given time, he might return to some semblance of his former self.

He sighed and leaned against the wall again, taking a moment to catch his breath.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps.

Barty stood in the doorway, looking over at him with a faraway look in his eyes.

"You were right, you know," Barty said quietly.

Harry looked over at him blankly. "What d'you mean?" he rasped.

"Living in the darkness, down in a hole. You said it was lonely." Barty looked down at his feet. "You were right. There were some days in there, mate, that just...I would have killed for just a moment of time with someone other than myself to keep me company. You at least had your weekly visits from that lady Auror."

Harry nodded, not really knowing what to say to his brother.

Barty took in the silence and smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile or even a mirthful one. He came to stand next to Harry looking at the carvings on the walls. "I can't even laugh anymore...there isn't enough feeling inside for me to..."

Harry nodded. "I know. I feel it too. The emptiness. Do you think it'll get better?"

Barty tried to laugh, but it came out sounding hollow and wrong. He grimaced. "I hope so. I don't...I don't like this..."

Harry nodded again, but stayed silent.

"What do you think of these friends of Reggie's?" Barty asked after a pregnant pause. "This job they want us to do...what do you think it really is?"

Harry shrugged. "Malcolm appeared sincere in his words. He seemed to be telling the truth. I don't know...We'll see, I guess." He and Regulus had taken a moment the previous day to inform Barty of Malcolm's visit, and the deal Harry had made with him.

"I don't like it, well, no, I don't like it. I know it's hypocritical to say, but this feels too much like he's using us." Barty frowned sadly. "Just like Regulus and I did to you. And Voldemort..."

"Voldemort used us all," Harry asserted. "This...feels a bit different, Barty. It feels, I don't know, _bigger_. We aren't talking about taking on a Dark Lord here."

Barty shook his head. "No, from the sounds of it, we're taking on the single most powerful political organization in the Wizarding World. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Barty. "Are you scared?"

Barty ran a hand through his hair. "No, well, yes, well...I don't know. Can you even imagine, taking on the ICW with just the five of us?"

"He and Regulus implied that they have allies within the Ministry," Harry reminded him.

Barty scoffed. "And you believe that?"

"I've no reason not to at the moment." Harry sighed and pushed off from the wall. He turned and looked at the image of Wotan, standing over fallen warriors with his two ravens on his shoulders and a pair of wolves by his side. "I have to say though, I do miss it."

Barty looked at the image as well. "Which part? The adrenaline? The power? Or just the recognition?"

Harry smiled, but without any real joy. "The sense of purpose. Having something to fight for. When we were at war things made sense, for the most part." Barty snorted at these words. "We knew who the enemy was and why we were fighting, on both sides. I wonder if this fight will give us that back." He sighed. "Truth be told, Barty, I don't know what to think anymore. I hadn't planned beyond Azkaban. I knew it would end that way, all the way back when I first offered to work with the Order, and I didn't think we'd actually ever get out afterward, and I had accepted that. Now that the impossible has happened, I don't know what to do."

Barty exhaled heavily, raising a hand to grasp Harry's shoulder in support. "I don't either, mate. I don't either."

 **XXXX**

Tonks couldn't help but think that something was very off about the woman and man standing in front of her now. Mrs. Blenkinsop – the wife of the missing man she was there to investigate – was a little older than Tonks herself with strawberry blonde hair that was pulled back into a high ponytail and Timothy Blenkinsop, the elder brother of the missing Barnabus Blenkinsop, was bald with no discernible eyebrows or facial hair.

What was more, they were smiling. Their brother/husband – respectively – was missing and possibly dead and they didn't seem at all bothered by the whole thing.

"So, let me get this straight," Tonks said, trying to keep the confusion and frustration out of her voice. "Neither one of you two filed the paperwork that reported Mr. Blenkinsop as missing?"

Timothy shook his shining head. "Not at all, Miss. I think I would remember that."

Mrs. Blenkinsop nodded her head along with her brother-in-law's words. "Besides, he isn't missing. We know exactly where he is."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "You do?" They nodded. "Where is he, then?"

Mrs. Blenkinsop smiled. "He's dead, of course."

Tonks blinked, not having been expecting that answer at all. "Dead? And you know this how?"

Mrs. Blenkinsop looked at her almost pityingly. "A woman knows these things." Her look became knowing. "Just like you know, in your heart."

Tonks cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked at her boots for a moment before looking back to the two with her facial expression back under control. "Where was the last place Barnabus was seen by either of you?"

Timothy pointed off to the side of the house where a small work-shed was situated, the structure being little more than a simple wooden structure with a plain tin roof. What stood out to Tonks at first glance was the symbol carved into the wood of the door, large enough to be visible even from the distance at which they were standing away from it, and given that the two had opted to meet her at the gate, they were a decent distance away.

"He was out in his shed, doing whatever it is he does when he's out there." The way he said it, Tonks believed that he actually had some idea as to what Barnabus had done out there, but the statement itself was innocent enough. Even so, it raised a red flag in Tonks' mind.

"Did either of you kill Mr. Blenkinsop?" she asked bluntly, watching them closely for a reaction.

She was disappointed when the only physical response was a single blink from each of them. "No, gods, no. We would never do that to him," Mrs. Blenkinsop said, looking genuinely offended.

Tonks sighed.

"Would either of you mind if I took a look around there?" Tonks asked. "Perhaps there's a clue as to where he went or, if he really is dead, what happened to him."

Mrs. Blenkinsop nodded, all traces of offense gone. "Go ahead."

Tonks nodded her head and walked past the two, who just watched her go without a bother. As she neared the shed, she heard the two of them split off and go in separate directions, one back into the house and the other out the gate.

She paused at the door, looking over the deeply etched symbol, a single hand coming up to trace its lines; the triangle, the circle within, and the vertical line that bisected the two. The Sign of the Deathly Hallows. Grindelwald's symbol, but also one that she had seen around Harry as well. She had seen it drawn on letters and other documents during their time at Grimmauld Place. She ignored the ache in her chest at the memories that surfaced, of the good times and the bad, and drew her wand, unlocking the door of the shed with a flick of her wrist.

She stepped inside and looked around, letting her eyes adjust the darkened interior. She noticed a string dangling from the ceiling, connected to a lamp of the sort she had seen in some muggle homes; there was one similar to it in the pantry of her own flat back in Coventry. She grasped the string in her free hand and gave it a tug and the small space was filled with a muted yellow light.

The first thing that caught her attention was the newspaper clippings that had been magically fastened to the walls all around the interior of the shed. There was also a large map of the world that had various colored pins stuck in it; this was positioned above a makeshift desk that was strewn with papers and books.

Tonks went to the desk and looked over what was laying there. Various books on magical history and wandlore, handwritten notes and annotation littering the margins. A few wanted posters, Harry's included. She picked up this one and looked it over, seeing the black and white image of her lost friend looking back at her. With a sigh, she set the poster down and continued her search.

The walls were covered in newspaper clippings, as she had noticed a moment ago, from a wide range of publications, not all of them in English. One thing that she found in prominence – given that it was marked with a large red spot of ink that was highly noticeable amidst all of the black and white – was the report of the night Harry killed Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Next to it, and connected with a red string was another clipping about the battle at Department of Mysteries. There were several more clippings all connected with red string, all of them featured Harry and the very last one was the story of his capture and trial. She noticed another string, this one also red, but a bit faded in color, tracing another series of clippings, these about Dumbledore, and then Grindelwald. They kept going back and back like some sort of timeline, newspapers giving way to pages torn from textbooks and tomes, and ending with the story of the three brothers, which had been ripped right out of a small copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard; the rest of the book was laying discarded and forgotten on the floor, covered in a thick layer of dust and mold.

Suddenly, it all made sense. This was a timeline that documented the movements of the legendary Elder Wand. She had heard how Xenophilius believed that the wand Harry had taken from Dumbledore was this ancient and powerful tool, but Harry himself had never put a whole lot of stock in it.

There was another, shorter timeline, this one with a blue string, that stemmed from the page that mentioned the Cloak of Invisibility. This one ended with an article announcing the birth of James Potter, son of Fleamont Potter and Euphemia Potter née Rowle. The third timeline was marked in green and followed the journey of Resurrection Stone. This one ended with the death of the Gaunt family, but there was a large question mark written there, indicating that who had done this and where the Stone had gone afterward was unknown.

It was an understatement to say that Blenkinsop had done extensive research into the Hallows, but did all of this have anything to do with his disappearance or possible death?

Going back to the desk, she started sifting through all of the books and papers there, opening the drawers and emptying them of their contents. It was in one of these drawers that she found her first real clue. A journal.

She flipped through it after checking to make sure it had belonged to her missing-person, and quickly found the latest entries.

 _June 15, 2000 C.E._

 _Today I was visited by four men. They were a dark and mysterious lot but they carried the sacred symbol and knew much of the Hallows. I asked their names but they gave me naught but aliases. Understandable, given the nature of our beliefs. One was called Rune, he was a young man, near my own age. One of the others was Talos, a tall man of imposing bearing and rough exterior. The next called himself Sionnach, an Irish fella with a dark look about him. The last was Mal, a rather severe man who didn't speak much._

 _We conversed for an hour or so on various topics, though they seemed highly interested to see all of my research. I told them to give me a week or so to arrange it all and we could go over it all together. They left soon after with a promise to return in a week's time._

 _I pray I will not regret this._

Tonks turned the page to the next entry.

 _June 22, 2000 C.E._

 _They returned._

 _It took me a few days but I was able to create a comprehensible timeline of the all three Hallows, though the Wand is by far the most extensive and detailed and I had to buy more red string to complete it._

 _They seemed impressed with the depth and quality of my research and we brainstormed for some time over where the Stone might have gotten off to after the Gaunts were destroyed. They seemed keen to help me, for some reason, but I do not sense anything malicious about them._

The next entry was dated a couple of weeks later.

 _July 13, 2000 C.E._

 _I was visited by Rune and Mal today. The others, it seemed, were unable to join us at the moment, having another engagement in Lancashire._

 _Something about this visit seemed different, and not just because of the lack of the other two men. It seemed like these two had something they wished to say to me, but were wary of doing so._

 _They stayed late into the evening with me, discussing politics and the like. They seemed particularly interested in my thoughts on the situation of Harry Potter. Now, I have never been shy in saying that the Ministry had made a serious blunder when they imprisoned the boy, especially after all that he did to free from the grip of that madman, Voldemort. And I told them this. They asked me if I had heard of a fringe group of Hallow-seekers called the Deathsworn. Of course, I had not, and what they told me was fascinating._

 _I will not speak more of them here but this could open a lot of doors for me._

Only two more entries remained in the journal and Tonks narrowed her eyes as she read on.

 _August 1, 2000 C.E._

 _I do not know what to say._

 _Rune and Mal returned today and what they told me has be both excited and terrified. They wish me to help them with a great task. I cannot speak of it here, but I can say that if I agree to this, it will be the single most important thing I have ever done._

 _The details are vague but I know what they wish of me, what price I must pay. I am willing. I would give more if I could but alas I cannot._

 _They have given me two weeks to decide my answer, but I know it already._

 _I am willing._

Tonks turned to the final entry so quickly that she almost tore the page right out of the book. Her heart was beating rapidly and her eyes devoured the words with an eager hunger that put a flock of Dementors to shame. She needed to know.

 _August 15, 2000 C.E._

 _The day has come. They are here._

 _All of them, and another man that I do not know. They asked of me my answer, and I have given it. I am willing._

 _They have given me time to write this last entry and to say my goodbyes to my family. This is a glorious day._

 _Once I have written this we are all to go to a place in the north, they will not tell me exactly where and even if they did I would not write it here. Too much is at stake and I will not be the one to put that in jeopardy._

 _I did learn of the other man though. He is like me, in a sense. Not near as smart or studied but a willing martyr nonetheless._

 _It is time. I must end this now. To my wife and brother, I love you both. Do not despair my leaving or my loss. Shed no tears for me, as I go to meet the end with a joyous heart and smile._

 _As it says upon the tomb of Godelot: "The beasts of the earth shall die, those that share your blood shall die, and you too shall die; and though the deeds live on they may be forgotten in time and then they too shall die, but that which is of Death shall never die."_

 _I will live forever._

Tonks reread the entries twice more. She could not help but wonder if the Rune mentioned in these pages was the same man that had pretended to be Harry's raven; Hermione said that that man was Regulus Black, and he had not been seen by any of them since that day. It would make some sense, she thought. But why had he and these others killed Blenkinsop? What was this 'great task' that was mentioned?

Her head spun and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

Looking at the last entry again she couldn't help but wonder if the other man mentioned was the same that Robards was currently looking into. He said he was going to Burnley, which was in Lancashire. Blenkinsop had mentioned that two these mysterious men, Sionnach and Talos, had business in Lancashire. It could be a coincidence though.

Tonks laughed as a voice in her head that sounded very suspiciously like Harry told her that the Universe was rarely so lazy.

So, if this was not coincidence then it was possible that it was all part of some larger conspiracy. The only problem was that she had no idea what that was.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. Let me know what you think.**

 **So, leave me some feedback yeah?**

 **PS: I made a visual aid for the characters of this story. Basically a image of the actor I would have portray them in film, but I don't know how to post a link for it so that you can go and view it on my deviantart account. I posted it as 'God of Death Fanfic Cast' under the name IAmAtrocity.**


	7. Here There Be Dragons

**VII. Here There Be Dragons**

Harry was sleeping, or at least he thought he was. He might have been dreaming, but sometimes the line between reality and the pure cycle of imagination, creation and perception within one's slumbering mind was so blurred that it may as well not even exist.

One thing he was sure of was that it all felt so real.

He was standing on a precipice, a lone stone outcropping in the endless, limitless void. In the distance he could hear what sounded almost like whale-song, echoing out across the cosmos. It was hauntingly beautiful and sent a chill down his spine.

He turned in a small circle, his feet staying where they were, but he could see nothing in any direction save that all-encompassing darkness.

That eerie sound was getting louder as he stood there and he felt more than saw something large and powerful move past him in the darkness. He didn't know what it was, for it was all but invisible in the void, but it felt somehow primal and ancient.

He felt it again, from right in front of him and he reached out a hand, hoping to feel whatever it was.

His fingers brushed against something. It was long and serpentine, its flesh felt like that of a fish or snake, but there was something else there too. Something soft, like a bird's feathers. And the size of those feathers had him backing up a step, each one feeling like they were a long as he was.

What sort of beast was this?

It made no sound, though the whale-song still filled the nothingness from all sides.

Then, his vision was filled with the most monstrous thing he had ever seen.

It was indeed a serpent of some sort, impossibly long, its body winding and twisting smoothly as though it were swimming through the void itself. Its scales were a muted grey-green color and the feathers that crowned its head and neck, yes they were indeed feathers, were a pale, translucent white, the same color as those deep sea fish that lived far from the reach of the sun. They shimmered enticingly with every movement the beast made. Its eyes were likewise pale and held no discernible iris or pupil.

As he watched it, it turned toward him with it massive gaping maw stretched wide and shot toward him across the vast expanse of nothing between them. Harry fell back, expecting to tumble off into the empty space around them, but found himself, instead, laying suspended as if there were a floor beneath him as the great serpent passed harmlessly overhead.

Once it had passed him by, Harry stood back up and glanced around, watching for the beast to make another pass. But it was gone and he was alone in the void once more. The whale-song continued.

 **XXXX**

Harry awoke with a start, his heart racing and his mind whirling as it tried desperately to hold on to the rapidly vanishing memories of what he had seen. Alas, it was not to be, and the dream slipped away as easily as a serpent in the grass.

He sat up in his bedroll and cast his gaze about the room.

The fire was burning low but still crackling softly, and Barty slumbered on across the way. Regulus was sat in his chair, a book propped open on his crossed legs, his steel blue eyes moving back and forth across the pages.

"You should try to get some more sleep, Harry," Regulus said without looking up from his book. "We depart here at midnight."

Harry nodded but did not lay back down. It had been some weeks now since he had woken up and he and Barty were both regaining some of their strength. Of course, without wands to practice, their magic had yet to be tested but physically they were getting better. They were still too thin and with next to no muscle built up, but they could now walk about freely without help and they could stomach more food, which meant more energy intake.

Regulus and Malcolm had finally agreed that they were strong enough to travel. This was partly due to an extensive potions regiment that the two men had put them on to jump-start their recovery; but apparently this location wasn't safe anymore and that too had influenced their decision on the matter.

But, the potions had helped quite a bit and Harry was almost glad that they would not be stuck in this tomb any longer. Almost. He actually like it here. He had explored further and further into the barrow and found an interesting discovery. In the deepest chamber there was an archway, much like the one that he had seen in the Department of Mysteries. He wondered if it served the same purpose and had studied the carvings on the walls of the various chambers with great interest. He didn't know what it all meant but it was all so fascinating.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, running a hand through his long hair; several inches of hair had to be chopped off as it had become too matted and tangled to manage but it still fell to his shoulders. His beard had not been so lucky and had been completely shorn off. Barty was back to his clean-shaven self, but he had not been bothered to style his hair after cutting it back to its old length.

Regulus closed his book and set it aside. "Another safe house, on the continent. I'd rather not say where exactly, yet. Just know that it is only a temporary stop. We'll stay there for a week or so and move on from there."

Harry nodded. It was the same answer he had gotten the last five times he had asked this question. "What's the hour?"

Regulus lifted his right sleeve and peered at the watch-face at the inside of his wrist. "Just five minutes after seven in the evening. We won't be taking a meal before we leave, just in case. We don't want you and Barty throwing it all back up. It's been a while since you magically traveled, at least while conscious."

Harry nodded and stood up. "I'm gonna go have another look around until it's time to go." Without waiting for a reply he set off through the hall that led further down into the earth and deeper into the ancient tomb.

He had had Regulus fix and light some of the torches that they had found in the tomb, and these now marked a path from the room where they slept all the way down to the final room of the barrow. He followed this path, running his fingers over some of the more interesting carvings that were found on the walls.

He paused at one in the third chamber, it was a mural of a whale-like creature swimming through the air above a group of dancing, smiling humans. Something prickled at the back of his mind, telling him that this was familiar. Briefly he thought about the dream that had woken him from his sleep; a dream he could not quite remember. Was it something to do with that? He didn't know and thinking too hard about it made his head start to ache so he chalked it up to him just having seen the image before and not really registering it until now.

He glanced to the other side of the room and the carvings on the opposite wall. This was an entirely different creature. Long and serpentine, with feathers crowning its head. Around it floated screaming men and women, a few of them caught within its jaws, and a few torn corpses stuck in the feathers. Something about this image made his heart beat a little faster and he had the strong feeling like he should know where he had seen this before, but the memory was not there and his head ached all the more for the effort.

He shook himself away from these thoughts and pressed on deeper into the barrow.

He avoided touching the various treasures that were laid out among the dead, at least those that were not encased in stone caskets or sarcophagi as those were literally the only ones he could touch without opening said caskets and sarcophagi. These bodies were rested in open cubbyholes that extended from the a foot or so above the floor to the ceiling five meters up. Each place had a name carved in runes – Elder, Younger, Anglo-Saxon and Medieval alike – though most had been slightly corroded by time. He had discovered that once you passed the chamber where they had made camp the rooms were arranged in a sort of simple pattern; a room with stone caskets and carved wall murals, then a room with cubbyholes, then caskets and carvings, then cubbyholes, before finally ending with the Archway Chamber, which bore no carvings and housed only the archway itself, the room left as more of a natural cavern than anything else.

It was to this room that he now walked.

Now, while the room bore no carvings, the walls of the chamber, uncut, still could raise the hairs on the back of one's neck, for they naturally resembled tormented faces and hands, as if souls had been trapped within and were frozen in time, trying to escape – but only in a certain light. With the few torches burning in the room now, the flickering light playing across the surfaces, they stood out in startling clarity.

As for the Archway itself, it stood bare and empty, just as the one in the Department of Mysteries did, save one difference; the one in the Department of Mysteries had a tattered length of cloth hanging within the Arch, but this one did not. He wondered if that was of some significance.

He climbed the jagged slope up to the Archway and ran his hand over the rough stone, circling the structure with a morbid sort of curiosity. He stooped and picked up a loose stone from the floor and tossed it through the opening where it passed without incident, as expected, and clattered to the floor on the other side, the sound reverberating off the high ceiling and distant walls. Then, all was still and silent as the grave once more.

He picked up another rock, holding it in his hand and placing his other hand on top of it. He concentrated his magic and willed it to do as he bid it. A moment later he held a squirming rat in his hands and he felt a significant drain on his energy reserves. Wandless casting was always more draining, and silent casting on top of that even more so, and the fact that he had not done such in so long made it all the more noticeable to him. That and creating sentient life from the non-sentient fabric of the earth was no easy task in and of itself.

He stood up to his full height again and tossed the squeaking rodent into the Archway. If it was working, the rat would disappear and be dead, but if it wasn't it would land, rather painfully, on the other side, and possibly be dead.

The rat sailed off the other side of the slope to land with a pained squeak and tumble down, where it lay unmoving and bloody.

So, it obviously didn't die from the Archway.

Feeling more secure in his earlier hypothesis that the cloth had some significance to the Archway, he stepped through the Arch himself, a final experiment. He emerged from the other side without an issue, as he had expected.

So, conclusion, he thought, either this is just a plain old empty archway, or it is missing a key piece needed to make it work.

He lowered himself to sit against the side of the Arch, sighing as he did. It had taken more energy than he would have liked to cast that spell and he needed a rest. While his stamina was a lot better than it had been, it was nowhere near where it had been before his incarceration and would take a lot of time and effort to get it back to that level again.

Time. Time was something he had in excess at the moment. So much time, and so little to do with it.

And, as was wont to happen when one has too much time on their hands, his mind began to wander.

It wandered to his friends and family. Where were they now? He knew very little beyond what Nymphadora had told him while he was locked up and all Regulus would say on the matter was that they had moved on with their lives. Harry began to grow suspicious with this answer after the second time he had heard it. What did that mean, 'moved on with their lives'? Was he saying that they had forgotten about him or that they wanted nothing to do with him anymore? Had they become his enemies? It raised more questions than answers and Regulus refused to elaborate further on the matter. Why? What were his motives in this? Harry's natural rebellious streak surfaced during these moments and he was tempted to try and get word to some of them, but he knew that doing so was to put himself and the others at risk and he could not chance that. Not yet.

It was also during these moments that he missed Hermione the most. Before his imprisonment he would have spent these quiet moments with her, either talking of random thoughts or just enjoying the company, but such things were beyond his reach and would be for a long time to come. This was not her fight; it wasn't even really his own fight but he had taken on a role in it and he would not drag her along for the ride. Maybe after this whole business with Malcolm and the others was done he would seek her out and try to make up for lost time, if she would still have him.

He missed the others too.

He missed Nymphadora and her clumsy ways and the way she could just go on for hours at a time with random, unconnected topics. It was charming in a slightly annoying way.

He missed Charlie's calm, stoic presence that never failed to bolster and reassure him.

He missed Bill's gentle tones and kind nature.

He missed Fleur's musical laughter and the Gallic lilt of her voice.

He missed Luna's oddness and her ability to be able to say just the right thing at the oddest of time and in the oddest way and yet somehow still make complete sense in an odd sort of way. Yes, he missed Luna being odd; just being Luna.

He missed Xeno's strange wisdom and willingness to help in whatever way he could.

Hell, he even kinda missed the slightly surly way Arnold had interacted with him in the short time he had known the man, which summed up to a total of two days of interaction – first at the funeral-turned-battle at Cross Hill and then when they had stormed Malfoy Manor.

Regulus, for all that Harry loved the man as a brother, was acting a bit too distant and more than a little secretive. At least Barty still treated Harry with respect and brotherly affection, else Harry might had gone spare. Of course, Harry understood that Regulus was protecting more than his own secrets now, he was playing things close to the vest as a safety measure, but that didn't mean Harry had to like it. That still didn't explain why he wouldn't say anything about Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Luna, Xeno, Arnold or Hermione. The only one he really knew anything about anymore was Nymphadora and that was because she had told him herself. But, that was weeks ago now, so even in that regard he was left in the dark now. She had told him things of the others, but only what she herself knew.

He broke from these thoughts as he heard footsteps approaching the chamber. It was so quiet and still down here that the slightest sound carried a long way.

He lifted his head up and looked toward the entrance of the room as Barty entered. He looked around the room a moment before his eyes settled on Harry's seated form.

"Is it time?" Harry asked. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, thinking of things he had no control over, but it must have been some time for Barty, who had been asleep when he left, to come looking for him.

Barty shrugged as he climbed the jagged slope. For a moment, Harry had a flash of memory from the last time he had seen this. The Department of Mysteries. They had been enemies then, but the similarity of the two images was too much to ignore.

"Soon, or so Reggie says, whatever that means," Barty said. He reached the top and sat down on the opposite side of the Arch. "He's a bit of a wanker when he's anxious."

Harry snorted. "You can say that again."

"He's a bit of a wanker when he's anxious," Barty repeated, smirking when Harry leveled an unimpressed look at him. Barty chuckled. "In all seriousness, I'm not sure if you've noticed but he's gotten a lot more serious in the last two years we've been gone. Not sure I like it, to be honest. Then again, he was always the more serious of us, maybe it's just more noticeable since we hadn't seen him in so long."

Harry nodded his head. "Could be. Either way, I don't like it. He keeps avoiding or outright ignoring my questions. And when I call him out on it, he won't even give me a reason."

Barty hummed in agreement. "I've noticed that too. I asked him a moment ago where we were going, he just said it was a safe house on the continent. That doesn't _really_ tell me much, you know."

"I got the same answer," Harry told him. "It's not as bad as when I ask about the others though."

Barty barked out a humorless laugh. "'They've moved on with their lives', is the go-to line for that one, I believe, yeah?" Harry made an annoyed sound in his throat, which Barty took as confirmation. "Yeah, that one got tired pretty quick. Who knows though, maybe there's a real reason behind it." He paused. "Or maybe he's just a prick." He chuckled. It was almost like his old self, but the eyes still gave him away; he was getting better at faking it, though there was a small light back in those eyes and that gave them both hope that they'd someday get better. "Oh well, he's our brother. Maybe he's a bit too serious but we shouldn't doubt him without a real reason."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I have a real reason. He's treating us like mushrooms: feeding us shit and keeping us in the dark. The last time someone kept things like this from me I was manipulated by you and him to fight Voldemort. And before that was Voldemort himself. I don't like being used by others, Barty, you know that." It was still a sore subject between the two. At least for Harry. He understood why, but, again, he didn't have to like it.

Barty didn't respond. He didn't need to, which was good because he wouldn't have known how to if he had needed to.

 **XXXX**

It was an hour later that they found themselves all gathered in the main first chamber. Malcolm and Tiberius were both there this time. Harry knew there was a third member of their little group, an Irish bloke named Fergus, whom he had never met and was not present at the moment; where he was, Harry had no idea.

At the moment, Tiberius was filling them all in on the current situation at the Ministry in regards to Bulgaria.

"I've managed to keep ol' Rufus tethered but they won' stay passive fer long," the large man said, stroking his beard. "I've bought us months at best."

Malcolm sighed and scratched his chin. "It won't be enough, I'm afraid. It'll take a few years at least before we are ready to mobilize. Have we anyone on the ground in Bulgaria?"

Tiberius shook his head. "Not yet, but I've a plan to get someone over there as soon as bloody possible. We need to keep the resistance from makin' too much a mess before we're all ready. I understand they want blood but thing's are too spread out right now." He huffed. "On an unrelated note, they burned the bodies."

Regulus raised a brow. "They _burned_ them?"

Tiberius nodded. "Yep. Fudge said somethin' about destroyin' any trace o' the two. Thinks it'll make people less interested in them if there's nothin' left o' them. He plans to have the ashes buried somewhere remote or thrown into the sea or somethin'."

Malcolm shrugged. "It makes our job easier, then. If there's no bodies, they can't discover our deception and it'll make the return of The God of Death all the more impactful. Is this public knowledge?"

Tiberius shook his head. "Not as o' yet."

Malcolm nodded to himself. "I want it known. Send a letter to the Prophet and the Quibbler, let them know. Use your influence but make sure your name stays out of the papers."

Tiberius nodded in agreement to the idea. "All right, you got all this in hand?"

Malcolm gestured in the affirmative and the bigger man bid them farewell, leaving the barrow and disapparating from just outside the wards.

"So, as Regulus has no doubt told you both," Malcolm said, turning to Harry and Barty, "this location isn't safe for you to stay any longer." The two younger men nodded. "An Auror started snooping around. Regulus ran some interference but he was smarter than he seemed and went to Tiberius, who owns this land, and started asking questions. He made notes of everything he encountered here and as much as Regulus tried, he didn't do enough to make sure the man moved on. So, we must move on ourselves." Regulus looked a bit upset at having his own actions spoken of so dismissively but didn't say anything.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, hoping that Malcolm would give him a straight answer, since he had already said more about why they were leaving than Regulus had. Harry hadn't known that their location had been discovered, or was at least in danger of being discovered.

"We are taking you to a safe-house on the continent. It is the home of an ally of ours. For the safety of all of us here, I would rather not give the location away, just in case something goes wrong and one of us is discovered or captured." He looked at Regulus. "Is everything here ready to go?"

Regulus looked around the now empty room, which bore no signs that they had even been there at all. No longer was there a fire-pit, no longer were there bed rolls, no longer were there chairs and no longer where there random items spilling out of magically enlarged bags – in fact, there were no bags either; they had been shrunken down and stuffed into pockets.

"It is," he said by way of answer. "We're all set."

Malcolm looked at Harry and Barty again and they both nodded. Harry was internally frustrated that he was still being kept in the dark about what exactly was going on. All he had gathered of his current situation what that he and Barty had been rescued from Azkaban after two men neither of them had met had decided to sacrifice their own lives and replace them as corpses which would lead the Ministry to think that they were dead; why wouldn't they? No one could escape Azkaban and no one could get in without them knowing about it. They were rescued by men who were not their friends, save for Regulus, to be recruited to help them in a fight against the ICW for reasons that amounted vaguely to 'freedom' and Harry could guess from the conversations he had overheard and been part of that Bulgaria was a big deal and he had no doubt that he would end up there before this was over. Now, they were leaving their current location because an Auror had been snooping about but they would not tell him where they were going. Hell, he didn't even have a wand anymore!

Speaking of which, "Barty and I are going to need wands," Harry said. "We aren't all that strong physically yet so we'll need some sort of protection if things go pear shaped."

Malcolm and Regulus shared a look before Regulus nodded and reached inside his robes. He pulled out two wands and held them over. Harry immediately recognized the Elder Wand, which he now held in his hand and the wand he had stolen from Dolohov at the Department of Mysteries, which they had given to Barty.

Harry shook his head and held the Elder Wand out to Barty, gesturing for him to trade with him.

"What?" Barty asked, confused. "That's yours, mate."

Harry shook his head. "No it isn't. It's yours." At Barty and Regulus' confused expressions – and Malcolm's curious one – Harry explained. "I won this wand from Dumbledore when I killed him. However, it stopped being mine when you took it from me at Malfoy Manor. I had honestly thought that you beating me at the Department of Mysteries would have done that but I guess not. Even so, I hardly used it." He pressed the Elder Wand into Barty's hand and took the other wand from between his fingers. "That's why you could use it to levitate the others out of the manor so easily. It just felt right, didn't it?"

Barty nodded, looking from the wand to Harry and then back again. "Yeah, it did."

Harry clapped him in the back. "It answers to you now. Maybe someday I'll take it back from you but for now it's yours." He lifted the wand he had taken from Dolohov; Blackwood, eleven and a quarter inches, with a Dragon Hearstring core. A perfect wand for dueling and battle; the wand of a warrior, as Ollivander would have stated, having once written an article on the different types of wood used in wands that Harry had read when he was but a boy, learning to fight from Barty. Barty's original wand had been made of Aspen, another wood known to be well-suited to fighters. "I am perfectly content with this wand." He considered it his now, having fought several battles with it after taking it from its former master.

Malcolm cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him and the current situation. "Now that that's all settled, can we get a move-on?"

Barty stuffed the wand in the holster that Regulus had just handed him, Harry following suit with the same. Once done strapping the wand and holster to his arm under his sleeve, Barty made a 'go ahead' gesture to Malcolm. "Lay on, MacDuff!"

Malcolm scowled at Barty, who was now smirking. "Ha bloody ha. It's McGonagall, not MacDuff, you pillock. You think that little half-quote is funny just because I am Scottish. Doesn't even make sense in that context anyway."

Barty chuckled quietly as they followed Malcolm out of the barrow.

"McGonagall, huh?" Barty asked. "Any relation to old Minerva up at Hogwarts?"

Harry perked up, listening carefully to the answer given. He was more than a little curious about these men whom he had allied himself with.

Malcolm sighed. "She's my elder sister," he answered. "We have not spoken in some years now, I am afraid. We do not always see eye-to-eye on things." He left it at that. "Come along now, we have to get moving. I want to have you in Eastern Europe as soon as possible."

"What's in Eastern Europe?" Harry asked. "Besides a safe-house."

Malcolm reached into his pocket as they cleared the wards. "A friend of yours, who has so kindly agreed to shelter you for a time. While I did believe it best you don't know where you are going, I have changed my mind. If something happens and we get separated, there is a pub called Dragonul Roşu, The Red Dragon, in Târgovişte, Wallachia. The place used to be a muggle pub before it was taken over by Wizards and used as a part of a sort of underground railroad during the Ottoman Invasion and again during Soviet occupation. Neither the Muslims nor the Soviets were very tolerant of Magicals during that time; and the Muslims still aren't, what with it being forbidden as a sin in their holy book and both the practitioner and any who seek after it are damned. The point is, its a good place to lay low for a time until we can get someone to you. I don't think anything will go wrong, but it's better to have a back-up plan in place, just in case. If you can't get there, for whatever reason, just find somewhere to hide. We'll find you one way or the other, just might take a bit longer out in the wild."

Everyone nodded, letting him know that they understood.

Malcolm reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a rag, like the type used by barmen and bar maids. He held it out to them. "Take hold of it, make sure you have a good grip. I'm more worried about losing one of you lot over the ocean or dropping you in Austria or Hungary than I am of someone attacking us."

Once everyone had a hold on the rag he drew his wand and placed the tip to it. He muttered something under his breath and Harry suddenly felt like he was being lifted off the ground, and the world around him started spinning rapidly into a blur of color.

He had traveled by portkey before but never over such a great distance. The trip only took a couple of minutes but it was a drastically longer journey than any previous one he had taken by the same means – those usually only lasted about ten to thirty seconds. Then again, he was traveling half the world this time, not just hopping around the British Isles or just across the channel to France.

They landed hard, or at least Harry and Barty did; Malcolm and Regulus landed nimbly on their feet while the aforementioned two fell heavily onto their backs, the wind rushing from their lungs. It was still dark here, though there was only a small time difference of two hours between England and Eastern Europe, which meant that it was probably only a little after two in the morning wherever they had landed.

Harry sat up, groaned and accepted the hand that Regulus held out for him and was hauled to his feet. He looked around the darkness, seeing nothing through the thick cloud cover overhead that blocked the light from the moon.

He was about to ask where they were when an earth-shaking, heart-stopping roar split the night air. Harry barely had time to register it before his instincts and training took over and he hit the dirt once more. The others followed only a second or two behind him, barely making it down before a rush of air and sound told them that something large had just flown right over where they had been standing.

Harry had a strange sense of deja vu as he rolled onto his back. A jet of orange and blue flame illuminated the sky and surrounding area, revealing the terrible silhouette of a large winged creature in the sky above them. His heart was pounding and his thoughts racing in a circle as he realized what it was he was seeing, one thought going through his mind over and over: That's a fucking _dragon_!

It seemed the others were in a similar state to himself as they all gazed up at the deadly, majestic beast. Just when Harry was sure it was going to make another pass and roast them all alive, a bolt of red lanced out of the darkness of some nearby trees, startling the dragon, who roared at it and spit a bit of fire before flying off into the distance.

"That...that...that..." Barty couldn't form a coherent word beyond that.

An unfamiliar laugh reached their ears, followed by a very familiar voice. "Yes, Mr. Crouch, it was. I did warn you all to be careful, Malcolm." The man came to a stop in front of them and smiled. "Here there be dragons."

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. Let me know what you all think.**

 **A shorter chapter this time, but that's why it was posted so early. There will be another on Friday, like usual though, rest assured.**

 **Charlie Weasley [Portrayed by Arthur Darvill (reference: Rip Hunter, DC's Legends of Tomorrow; Rory Williams, Doctor Who; Paul Coates, Broadchurch)]**

 **Character images can be found on my deviantART page, under the name 'God of Death Fanfic Cast' by IamAtrocity.**


	8. Blood Of My Blood

**VIII. Blood Of My Blood**

Harry felt his face split into a grin. "Charlie," he said, relief spreading through him at the sight of his old friend and ally.

"Hello, Harry," Charlie Weasley chuckled, helping the younger man up from the ground drawing him into a short, one-armed embrace. "You look pretty lively for a dead man."

Harry smirked. "The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," he quipped.

Charlie ruffled Harry's hair like one would a younger sibling. "And I have never been more glad to hear that the papers got it wrong." He turned to Barty. "Barty, it's good to see you, despite that we never formally met. Charlie Weasley," he introduced himself.

Barty nodded in return and shook his hand. "Barty Crouch Jr.," he said back.

Charlie looked around them at the area. "Ah, well, we'd best get to shelter. I may have scared her off, but it won't take long for her to come back and have another go at us."

He set off at a brisk pace, trusting the others to follow without having to be told.

"That sort of thing happen often?" Malcolm asked as they walked toward the treeline.

"Dragons attacking people?" Charlie asked. "All the time. Dragon-Keeping is a dangerous business. We lose people all the time. Most don't have the fortitude to stand against one without a veritable army at their backs and every once in a while we have those that desert their posts. A couple of times a dragons has gotten loose and attacked one of the nearby towns, luckily, muggles don't want to believe in things like dragons so we can get away with selling it as a gas explosion or a house-fire that spread too quickly. They'll latch on to it fairly quickly; anything to avoid having to accept the truth."

They were in the trees now and Harry was thankful for it. The limbs and branches over their heads greatly diminished the threat of an attack from above. They wouldn't stop the fire though, if it came.

"But you do, I take it?" Barty asked, stepping over a particularly large root that was protruding from the ground along whatever path they were following.

Charlie laughed. Actually laughed. "Would I be standing here if I made a habit of taking on dragons alone? No, no. I simply know when and how to move. Tonight was a rare event, I don't usually take such risk but it had to be done. That being said, I've been at this job longer than most, next only to a handful of others and those in charge of it all."

He stepped around a large rock that blocked part of the path, motioning them all to follow him.

"Frankly, they were surprised and rather pleased when I came back. Most people who retire from Dragon-Keeping never come back. We have a rather high mortality rate and even higher 'early retirement' rate."

Barty looked up as a distant roar reached their ears. "I wonder why," he muttered sarcastically.

Harry suppressed a chuckle. "So, how long have you been back out here? Nymphadora told me that you went back to Romania, but she didn't say much else. Seems you don't stay in touch all that often."

Charlie nodded, though none of them saw it. "I send letters on the holidays and on birthdays, but I don't correspond with anyone beyond Bill and Fleur on a regular basis. They're closer and easier to contact. I visit them in France every weekend, when I can. I try to keep in touch with Hermione as often as possible. She seemed to take it all the hardest. I don't write to Tonks that often because we didn't see eye-to-eye on a few things."

Harry arched a brow, curious. "Such as?"

Charlie sighed, the sound reaching them easily in the near-silent stillness of the night. "She wouldn't listen to me when I told her that going to see you every week wasn't good for her, emotionally, mentally, physically. She wouldn't listen and we fought about it. I wanted to see you freed as much as she did, but she let her emotions cloud her vision. I take it she didn't stop going to visit you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, she didn't. In fact, she visited the day they got me out. Then they sent her right back to confirm my death. It was in all the papers."

Charlie shrugged. "We don't get the Prophet out here, thank Merlin, and the papers out here didn't bother with such things. Just that you were dead and that was that. I take it the Prophet didn't paint a pretty picture of her?"

"Not in the slightest," Harry answered with an edge to his voice. He didn't take kindly to the paper's treatment of his friend.

"Why is it, you got visits from pretty birds and all I got was the bloody Dementors?" Barty groused.

Harry chuckled. "Well, you see, I am a charming bloke, whereas you, on the other hand, were a bit of a bastard."

Barty scoffed. "Oi, you little twat, I'll have you know I happen to be quite the ladies man."

"Yes, you're a real Casanova, Barty," Regulus interjected. "The women were all just dying to get a piece of you. Oh, wait, no they weren't, they were running away screaming bloody murder!"

Harry sighed dramatically. "Such is the lonely life of a Death Eater." He hung his head in mock mourning.

"Piss off, you manky gits," Barty grumbled.

"Speaking of Death Eaters," Harry went on, ignoring Barty. "Whatever happened to Pansy and that baby of hers?"

Charlie looked over his shoulder at him. "Little Scorpius? Pansy took him and moved to Godric's Hollow. They live just down the lane from Hermione, Lily and little Hugo."

Harry's head shot up at the last name. "Who is Hugo?"

Charlie stopped walking and turned toward Harry, looking down at him seriously. "You don't know? Tonks, she didn't tell you?" He didn't wait for Harry to respond before saying to himself. "No, I don't suppose she would have. It wasn't her place to tell you. It isn't mine either, but it's a bit late for that."

"Tell me what?" Harry demanded, something twisting in his gut at how hesitant Charlie sounded. Calling him 'Little' Hugo meant that it was probably a child, and given the short time Harry had been away meant that it was more than likely a toddler or an infant. His insides went cold. Had Hermione moved on and had a baby with someone?

Charlie sighed again, bringing Harry back out of that dangerous line of thinking, which had started heading in the direction of finding whoever had dared touch his Hermione and murdering them nice and slow-like.

"You see, Harry, Hermione...well, we didn't discover it until after you had been locked away...it came as a bit of a surprise to us all, especially her, but..." He swallowed when he saw the glare that Harry was leveling at him, urging him to just get to the point. "Hermione was pregnant when you were sent to Azkaban. You have a son, Harry."

Harry didn't respond. In fact, he just stood, frozen on the spot, eyes unblinking with a faraway glaze in them. Inside, his heart was pounding like a war drum and his mind kept replaying that single phrase over and over again.

 _"You have a son, Harry...You have a son, Harry...you have a son..."_

He couldn't wrap his head around that thought. It didn't make sense to him. It didn't fit into the view he had of his life and it didn't fit with his expectations. But, then again, neither did most of the things that had happened in his life up to that point. He hadn't expected to become a Death Eater. He hadn't expected to befriend Dumbledore. He hadn't expected to betray Voldemort. He hadn't expected to fall in love with Hermione. He hadn't expected to have to fight his best friend. He hadn't expected to actually kill Voldemort. He hadn't expected Regulus to still be alive. He hadn't expected Barty to actually be on his side the whole time. He hadn't expected to get out of Azkaban.

So, why was it so surprising that something else he hadn't expected had come to pass?

Suddenly the world around him came back into focus in a rush of sight, sound and smell, and he felt his knees buckle beneath him from the sudden sensory overload. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and his breathing was coming quick and short. His vision was dancing with dark spots at the edge and he felt dizzy.

He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, aware that the others were kneeling around him. He could see their lips moving but the sound had gone out again and he could not make out their words.

He had a son, that was what Charlie had said. Right? Or had he misheard that? No, no. He was sure that that was what he had said. But that couldn't be right...could it? He and Hermione had had a very _healthy_ relationship, and were none too shy about sharing their bodies with each other. Hell, they had copulated the night before the Battle of Cross Hill, also known as the Battle at the Cemetery. And that was only a week or so before he had been locked up, so he supposed that it could have happened then. Hermione certainly hadn't shown any signs during that time, that he knew of.

He felt something pulse through him from his chest and he reached up to idly touch the point of origin. He could feel the raised flesh of his Thurisaz Rune scar on his chest through his shirt. He didn't think much of it, but in the back of his mind he knew that the rune was a symbol of male virility, and that it had been made in his blood, giving it power. He also knew runes had power, but he didn't make the connection that the rune might have played a part in his seed taking hold in Hermione's womb.

The only thing he could think about was the fact that he had a son. It still didn't feel real to him.

"Harry! Harry!"

He snapped out of his trance suddenly, Barty's voice cutting through the fog of his thoughts.

He looked up at the other man curiously. "What?"

Barty's expression became even more worried than it had been. "You alright, little brother?"

Harry tilted his head. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Charlie, kneeling next to Barty, gestured to him. "You collapsed."

Harry frowned. "I did?" He looked around himself, realizing that he was sitting on the forest floor. Regulus, Barty and Charlie were on their knees at his side and he could see Malcolm behind them, alternating between looking at him and watching their surroundings. "Huh. Why did I fall?" Harry asked.

The three men kneeling by him exchanged worried glances.

"You don't remember?" Regulus inquired with a concerned edge to his tone.

Harry stared back blankly.

Barty sighed and rubbed his head, as if to stave off a headache. "Well, there's no easier way to put this. You collapsed after Charlie here told you that you had a kid with Hermione that you didn't know about. That ring any bells?"

Harry blinked. "So that was real?" Charlie nodded. Harry let himself fall onto his back in the dirt and leaves. "Shit." He inhaled deeply, then let it all out in a huff. "I have to go back," he said after a moment of silence.

Malcolm looked over at him with a raised brow. "Beg pardon?"

Harry sat up and climbed back to his feet, absently brushing the dirt and leaves off of him. "I have to go back," he repeated.

Malcolm marched over. "I don't think so," he said, brushing past Regulus to stand in front of Harry. "We have a job to do, and we can't do it if you go and ruin the element of surprise like that. No one beyond the select few who are helping us with this can know that you are still alive."

Harry glared up at the Scotsman, baring his teeth. "That was before I knew I had a child."

Malcolm glared back. "I have children too, Harry. Tiberius has children. Fergus has children. You aren't only one with something to lose." His voice was rising steadily. "This changes nothing!"

"IT CHANGES EVERYTHING!" Harry shouted back. His chest was rising and falling harshly with each breath that he took and his teeth were clenched together. "You may have a family, you may have just as much to lose, maybe more...but at least you've had the chance to hold your children." He took a deep breath. "We may die in this venture of yours. I'd at least like to see my son before that happens. If only just once." The silence stretched on between them and Malcolm and Harry just stared at each other, neither moving. Finally, Harry spoke again. "I'm not asking."

Malcolm blinked and nodded, releasing a tired breath. "Fine." He turned around in a slow circle, then looked at Charlie. "Get those two to the house, Harry and I will meet you back here in thirty minutes time."

Charlie nodded and nudged Regulus and Barty, jerking his head for them to follow him. He leveled a long look at Harry, silently communicating to him to be careful and not be seen.

Once the three were gone, Malcolm pulled the rag back out of his pocket. "I know the cemetery in Godric's Hollow. I went there once, to see the graves of the Peverell brothers. It is a place that all those who seek the Hallows go. It is where I met Tiberius and Fergus." He pulled out his wand and began moving it over the rag. "One would say that it was fate or destiny that we three all decided to visit on the same day. Others might call it coincidence. I don't know which would be more accurate, but I do know that nothing would be the same if not for that." He sighed and held out the rag. "I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you the importance of your not being seen?"

Harry shook his head. "You don't."

Malcolm nodded, almost to himself. "Good. Let's get this over with."

Harry took hold of the rag and Malcolm activated the portkey. A couple of minutes later they landed amidst the graves and stones of the Godric's Hollow Graveyard, Malcolm on his feet and Harry on his back.

Neither said anything as Harry dragged himself upright and glanced around. He spied the kissing gate and made his way toward it, passing through with nary a sound, Malcolm on his heels.

At first, he thought it might be a mirage, an illusion brought on by a mind twisted and weakened by too long spent in Azkaban, but after a moment of it not changing or vanishing, no matter how many times he blinked, he accepted that the two-story cottage in front of him was in fact real. It was just as he remembered it being in the memories he had been shown of the night he was taken by Voldemort all those years ago. Someone had rebuilt it.

He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head and walked across the street to stand in front of the gate, a small sign that read 'Potter – Granger' sat nailed next to it. He was in the right place, it seemed.

He hesitated, his hand hovering just over the latch of the gate. Even though he had accepted what he had been told, it still didn't seem real. Going in there would make it real. Could he handle that? Was he ready for that?

He glanced behind him, seeing Malcolm still standing on the opposite side of the road, almost invisible under the shade of a low-hanging tree. He saw the man nod to him minutely and he steeled his resolve, pushing the latch open and stepping through the gate, letting it swing softly shut behind him as he walked up the path to the door.

A silent wave of a hand and the lock of the door clicked open, allowing him entrance to the house.

He stepped inside, closing the door as quietly as possible behind him, keeping the door handle turned until the it was lined up with the catch before slowly turning it back and letting go. Hardly a sound was made.

He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the lighting, or lack thereof, before venturing further into the house. He walked down the little hallway that served as the entrance to the home. He could see a stairwell ahead of him that wound up to the second landing, and two, no three, doors that branched off the hall before that point. He peered through one that was open to find a modest but well-kept kitchen – he could even see a few muggle contraptions in there, though he would not venture to guess what they were for – and the other led into a drawing room, with a couch, a settee and a chair. There was also a cradle in the corner.

The room gave off an aura of comfort and hominess, something that no place he had ever lived had done. Malfoy Manor was too large and the people much too formal and distant to even consider having something so modest and simple within those walls. There was no comfort to be found there, save for in the darkest places where one was truly alone, or in the gardens where the gentle majesty of nature and the open sky above could give the illusion that one was not living in the cold shell of what might have once been a home. All of that was gone now though, burned to the ground in the aftermath of their battle; Barty's uncontrollable demon fire had seen to that.

Grimmauld, likewise, had not possessed any of the soft familial comfort that this single room seemed to expound, even now when empty and darkened. Though, Harry had many good and fond memories of his time there, and it, at least, was still standing. Perhaps he might return there some day.

He moved on down the hall. And paused. He could feel eyes on him. Someone was watching him from out of sight.

"Dobby," he intoned softly. "I know you're here. Show yourself, but stay quiet."

A small, almost silent _pop_ was heard as the little House Elf appeared in front of him, a large smile on his face and tears clinging to the corners of his eyes. "Mister Harry Potter Sir," he squeaked quietly. "I knews that yous was not dead. I knews it." Without prompting he lunged forward and wrapped Harry's legs up in a tight hug. Harry could hear him weeping.

Smiling gently, Harry reached down and patted the little Elf on the head. "Hush now, Dobby. It's all right. All is well. Don't cry on my account." He hummed a small laugh. "You've done well in my absence, and I shall not forget it, my friend." This made Dobby cried all the more. "I need you to do something for me, Dobby."

This got the little Elf's attention and he stepped back, looking up eagerly. "Anything, Mister Harry Potter Sir!"

"I need you to keep my being here, and my being alive a secret. Can you do that?"

Dobby frowned but nodded. "Yes, sir. But, yous is not wanting Mistress Hermey to know?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Not yet. Things are happening, Dobby. Bad things. Things that I dare not drag her into. I ask you this, because it will keep her and the child safe. Do you understand?"

Dobby nodded, his expression now resolute. "Yes, Mister Harry Potter Sir, Dobby understands."

Harry smiled. "Good. Now, go about your business. And, thank you again, Dobby."

Dobby bowed low and then disappeared with another small _pop_.

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair before continuing his little exploration of the house.

The next room was a laundry room. He passed this by after a taking a quick glance and headed for the stairs. He ran his eyes over a few photos hanging in the hall, seeing Hermione and his mum in most of them. They looked happy. He felt the corners of his mouth tug upward in a small semblance of a smile.

He climbed the stairs carefully, pausing each time he heard a step creak beneath his feet. He knew that the sounds weren't overly loud and wouldn't normally be enough to give away his movements but at night even the smallest sounds seemed to be amplified to at least ten times their normal volume and decibel level. He knew that this was because of the general decrease in activity at night which resulted in less ambient noise, thus unfamiliar sounds were more easily and quickly noticed. That, and the fact that he was trying to be stealthy made it so that he cringed and worried at even the smallest sound.

He reached the landing after only three stops and paused, taking a moment to look around him and take in the view that he had only ever seen in memories. Almost every detail was how he remembered it being, down to the soft, fluffy, cream-colored carpet beneath his feet and the pale off-white of the walls. The only thing that was different and let him know that he had not wandered into a Pensieve was the photos. For such a short time, they had certainly taken many pictures. He could see a few that looked like they might have been older photos, even seeing one that looked like his mother holding him as a baby. His father was not in the picture, and that was probably why it had been kept and hung up.

He wondered if the rooms were laid out the same, still. If it was, then the room to his left would be the nursery.

He walked slowly, the thick carpet absorbing the sound of his footfalls. He found the door already opened, leaving about six inches of space for him to peer through. He nodded and smiled to himself as he realized that yes, it was still the nursery.

He lifted his hand up and gently, slowly, pushed the door all the way open. It swung wide without so much as a sound beyond the faint whisper of the wood passing over the carpet.

He stepped inside and returned the door to its previous state, knowing that if anyone were to wake up and venture out onto the landing they would likely notice if the door was opened wider than it had been before and he did not wish to draw any undue attention to himself. He wasn't supposed to be here after all.

The room was not exactly as he remembered it, which was fine. Instead of the blue paint that had colored the walls when he was a child here these walls were more of a milky cream color, similar to the carpet. Simple white curtains covered the one window on the far side of the room.

Against the wall to the right was a modest wooden crib, more of a small bed with high rails, really. On the wall above, the name HUGO was displayed in large, Ravenclaw blue letters. There were even painted black ravens on either side of the name, their wings unfurled as though they were coming in for a landing in the first and last letters. They didn't move like those done by a magical family would, giving the whole thing a rather mundane and muggle feel. Before everything that had happened, this would have bothered him, but then again, before everything he wouldn't have had a child with a muggleborn so it was all a moot point.

He made to approach the bed but paused. Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't take those last few steps. He could see the shape of a small form laying amongst a few blankets there, but two or three more steps would reveal that form to him completely. Two parts of him warred within, one telling him to go to his child the other telling him to turn around and leave and not look back.

What would change if he saw the face of his son? Would he even be able to leave again if he did? It was this question that plagued him. He knew that Malcolm was waiting outside and would not leave him here, would not let him stay, but he wondered if he would have the strength to go back out there and leave England and his son behind for who knew how long - possibly years - to come?

He would have to, he decided. There was no other option available to him.

So, with that in mind, he put one foot in front of the other and then again and again. For a moment, he felt nothing gazing down at the small, slumbering form of his son, but then, he felt something welling up in his breast. It was an almost-familiar feeling of protectiveness and awe.

He didn't know how long he stood there staring down at the child, but the seconds seemed to stretch on for hours as he watch his son breath in and out deeply, lost to innocent dreams, unaware that one he would be taught was dead was standing over him. Unaware that his father had come to see him at last.

Harry hesitantly reached out and brushed his fingers over the soft dark hair that adorned the child's head, a tender smile forming on his face as he did. He scarce believe that something so soft and fragile-looking and yet unearthly beautiful had come from him – at least in part.

At his touch, the little one stirred briefly, a soft moan escaping his lips. Harry let out a soft laugh as his son's face scrunched up in annoyance before smoothing back out into a passive expression. It reminded him of how Hermione would have act if he had tried to wake her up gently while she was sleeping. But that was so long ago now that he couldn't really be sure if it was a real memory or something his damaged mind had conjured up to give him something to compare this little moment, and the feelings it evoked in him, to.

His attention was drawn away from his son for a moment by a small blinking of red light. He titled his head at the small device that sat clipped to the inside edge of the bed-rail, looking a bit like those hand-held radio things that muggles used in some of those films that he and Barty had watched years ago. If he had to guess, there was another of these with Hermione in her room, so she would hear if little Hugo woke up or began to cry. It was smart, and Harry was comforted to know that Hermione could know and be here in a moment's notice if something were wrong.

"One day, my son, I will come back to you. That, I promise...blood of my blood." Harry brushed his hand over his son's head again, wishing that he could hold the child in his arms, just once, but knowing that it was too much of a risk to do so.

His head shot up as he heard a click of a door opening down the hall, followed by careful footsteps heading toward his position. Not having time to get out before whoever it was made it to the nursery, he looked around and spied a closet on the opposite side of the room to the left of the door as one entered the room. He swept across the room and moved within, leaving the door slightly cracked so that he could watch and see when the coast was clear.

A second later the door opened and Hermione moved into the room, her eyes darting around the room suspiciously and her wand out and ready. After a moment of not seeing anyone she sighed and went to where their son was still sleeping peacefully after tucking her wand into her shorts. She peered down at the child for a moment and Harry cursed that he could not really see her face from where he was, though he did take a moment to admire her form. He could see her long creamy legs and round bum accentuated by her short gray shorts and her arms and shoulders were easily visible in that small white sleeveless, thin-strapped shirt. Her hair, he noticed was cut quite a bit shorter than it was the last time he had seen her, barely hanging past the tops of her shoulders.

She stood there, whispering to their son for a few minutes before sighing again and leaving the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Harry waited until he was sure that she wasn't coming back before moving from his hiding place and making his escape from the room.

Once back outside he rejoined Malcolm under the shadows of the trees of the cemetery.

Malcolm did not say a word as he took in the expression on Harry's face. Harry didn't know what sort of look he was wearing but Malcolm must have seen something there because he reached into his pocket and withdrew his flask, offering it to Harry without a word.

Harry took the flask and swallowed a mouthful of the harsh but smooth whiskey within. It burned all the way to his insides and he resisted the urge to shudder as he handed it back with a nod of thanks.

Nary a sound was made as they ventured back through the gate of the cemetery. Once they were far enough from the street and hidden from view by the stones and cypresses Malcolm activated their portkey and they were once again on their way to Romania.

 **XXXX**

Hermione stirred from her sleep as she heard a small noise from the baby monitor that lay on the bedside table. She lifted her head slightly but when no further noises followed she laid it back down. It wasn't uncommon for Hugo to make small sounds in his sleep, yet she still awoke to each and every one. It was a habit that she was uncertain she would ever break. Not that she wanted to break it.

She had just closed her eyes when another sound came through the monitor, this one vastly different from any she had ever heard come from her son. It sounded like a short laugh, but far too deep to be from the tiny lungs of her child.

Her head shot up at the sound, her eyes instantly clear and alert.

Her blood ran cold when a male voice suddenly began to speak through the monitor. She was out of the bed in a flash, her wand flying into her hand before she froze. She knew that voice.

 _"...I will come back to you. That, I promise."_

She shook her head to clear it. She must be imagining that it sounds familiar, like _him_ , as a way for her mind to calm her racing heart and let her focus on what was happening.

She opened her door and stepped out onto the landing, her wand out and at the ready as she began to slowly make her way toward the nursery door, which stood slightly open. Had it been open when she went to her own bed? She couldn't remember but the mother in her was screaming at her to hurry, that someone was in there with her baby and she needed to get in there and kill them.

So spurred, she pushed open the door and went inside, her eyes darting around the room, looking for any sign of the person who had spoken. She turned in a slow circle, her gaze taking in every small detail of the room.

There was no one there, and nothing was out of place.

With a sigh, she let herself relax and tucked her wand in the waistband of her shorts. She looked down at her son, who was sleeping calmly and smiled to herself, sadly. Now that the rush of adrenaline was leaving her she began to wonder if she had imagined the voice, or if it was some sort of electronic voice phenomenon, like she had read could happen with such devices; though those always were in reference to picking up the voices of the dead.

That thought made her frown. Harry was dead, so that would almost make sense. Perhaps it was his spirit that had come to visit. Now that she thought about it, the voice hadn't sounded threatening or even sinister when it had spoken, it just sounded that way to her because it was coming from her child's room.

Even the words it had spoken were not threatening. _"One day, my son, I will come back to you. That, I promise."_

It had said it would come back _to_ Hugo, not _for_ Hugo. _My son_. This lent some credence to her thought that it had sounded like Harry. She knew his voice, would know it anywhere. It was a voice she had thought she would never hear again.

"I guess some things just aren't meant to be, huh?" she whispered to Hugo, though the question was more for herself than her child, who could not hear her right now anyway.

She glanced up at the letters painted on the wall and the two ravens that flanked them. Those ravens were to represent herself and Harry. They had both been Ravenclaws in school and Harry had had a raven familiar – which had turned out to actually be his not-so-dead friend in animagus form – so she thought that they were fitting. Two ravens, sort of like guardian spirits, to watch over her son while he slept. What no one else but her and Lily knew what that even though they didn't move, they _were_ magical. They were designed to emit a loud cry if anyone with villainous or dark intentions entered the room. She supposed it was a comfort that they sat silent, so that if anyone had been in there they had not been there for nefarious purposes.

"I wish he could have seen you..." she sighed again. "Sleep well, my son. Mummy is not going to let anything happen to you."

She left to the room, not bothering to close the door behind her, and went back into her own room.

She crawled into her bed and drew the covers up to her chin, her eyes staying open for a few long minutes. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind creating shifting patterns in the darkness. Not for the first time she wondered what Harry would have thought if he had been there. How would he have reacted to their child? Would he have been happy or would he have been distant? She liked to think he would have been happy. She so loved it when he smiled...but she would never see that again. Not in this life. Maybe the next, if there was one.

She was not religious, never had been. Growing up in the shadow of a church, she had known about it all, but she never made any connections to it. It was just all too illogical for her. She knew that Harry harbored at least a passing respect, if not actual belief in the Old Gods, as he had called them, but she had never seen any real religious regard for them. He had taken the existence of gods as being like the existence of rain or wind. They were there, he knew they were there, but it wasn't really anything to get worked up about. They were just a fact of life to him; it wasn't something he had control over so he didn't let it affect him. Like death, though his regard and fascination with death was something else altogether.

But what came after death?

She knew that the Christians believed that good people went to heaven and the evil went to Hell. It was an oversimplification of the numerous actual views on it by the equally as numerous sects of Christianity and even Judaism and Islam, but the gist was there.

She wasn't even going to get started on the countless pagan and polytheistic belief systems out there. The Norse and Saxon alone had at least seven different afterlives unto themselves.

Whatever the truth was, she had no way of knowing. No one really did, no matter how much they claimed to.

She had read somewhere that in the days before Christianity and the other Abrahamic religions had come to Europe there had been rituals and magically induced trances that would allow a shaman to separate his soul, or his self, from his body and journey into the realms of the dead to gain wisdom and even knowledge on magic. There were some who believed that all magic was gained from the dead and passed on through the spiritual connections to the ancestors rather than through the blood. But that didn't make much sense since the blood carried DNA and the DNA was passed down from father to son and mother to daughter so by default there was already a connection to one's ancestors, even before birth.

Still, no one knew anymore what really happened after death. Once upon a time – if the stories were to be believed – one could travel there while still alive, but that art was lost long ago and if it was ever rediscovered she was sure the Ministry would label it dark and forbidden and cover it up so fast it might as well have never existed at all.

Idly, she wondered if it was still on record somewhere in the Department of Mysteries.

She shook her head. It didn't matter and her thoughts were jumping about so much now that she had lost her original thought process, as was wont to happen when one laid awake thinking long into the night.

With a soft exhale she turned onto her side and curled up into herself, closing her eyes to the shifting shadows of the room. She hummed quietly to herself, a sort of lullaby to the melody of a song she used to sing in the mornings when it came on the wireless. _Hey, little train, we're jumping on. The train that goes to the kingdom..._

Without even realizing it, she fell into sleep.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. Leave me some feedback, I want to know what you all think. Reviews give me inspiration and motivation!**


	9. The Impaler

**IX. The Impaler**

Charlie's house was situated just outside the preserve, nestled between a thicket of trees and a small cliff-face with more trees atop it. It was positioned in such a way that if a dragon were to escape the preserve from that direction it would not see the house until it was directly over it and would have to circle back to attack. This, combined with a dragon's instinctual habit of announcing themselves by roaring gave the inhabitant time to escape into the underground shelter beneath and behind the house before the fire came.

It was this shelter, which was outfitted with several beds and a small but working kitchen and loo, was where Harry and the others were staying.

Malcolm had returned to England after making sure they all were settled in and reminding Charlie that if anything was needed, to send Rune instead of an owl; which was a way of saying that Regulus would have to act as the go between. Normally, they would use the House Elves but for sensitive information they preferred to handle it themselves.

At current, Harry was sitting in a simple wooden chair at an equally simple wooden table, picking at a bit of roasted lamb and bread, a glass of water sitting half empty by his right hand.

Across from him, Barty sat, his plate mostly cleared of his own meal and a glass of cheap red wine in his hand.

They had only been there for a couple of days now, but things were already better than they had been in Godelot's Barrow, except in one regard. Over the course of those two days, Harry had become more withdrawn and appeared to be growing more and more frustrated with their situation.

Upon reaching Charlie's house after visiting his son, Harry had been greeted with a mug of ale and some hot food, and Barty had made a big show of congratulating Harry on getting Hermione 'up the duff', as he had put it.

Harry had smiled and been merry with his brothers and Charlie, but as the night wore on and conversation tapered off, Harry had gone solemn and sullen, his eyes holding that faraway glaze that said his thoughts were miles from their current location.

Now, normally, Barty might have chalked it up to fatigue from traveling so far or to Harry's general moodiness, but given the situation, and the fact that for, all of his faults, Barty was both observant and intelligent, and he also, despite what some would be inclined to believe, cared deeply for his 'little brother'. Thus, Harry was not surprised when Barty decided to speak up about this small but noticeable change; not that he was really inclined to speak about, even if it was obvious.

"All right, the others may be content to sit here and let you sink back down into that dark little pit of yours but I, for one, am not." Barty pointed at Harry, who had raised his eyes from his plate to face him. "I know that you aren't the outgoing, social type, never have been, but I can see that look in your eyes, mate. You aren't in a good place right now and I, as your brother – don't argue – as your brother, I am obligated to make sure you are not only healthy but at least somewhat okay, if not altogether happy or content."

Harry raised his brow at Barty and glanced over to where Regulus was openly and unabashedly listening in, sitting in a lounge chair by the wall next to a wrack that held several long, iron-reinforced boar spears that Charlie said were for defensive use against smaller dragons; he had one of these resting across his lap and was sharpening the blade as a favor for letting them stay there.

Harry turned back to Barty. "I don't think either of us can be called healthy, Barty. Nor are we anywhere near being happy or content."

Barty narrowed his eyes, which still held that dull gleam of madness in them, but he was fighting past it because it had to be done and he needed to at least pretend to be getting better. Barty always was a good liar and actor.

"No, I don't suppose we can," Barty agreed. "I reckon my eyes look just as bad as yours most days. That little haze, like you aren't all there. The _madness_. But, I am at least putting forth the effort to appear somewhat like my old self."

Harry laughed humorlessly. "That should be somewhat easy for you. You didn't go through some huge life-changing little journey like I did. I don't know which me is the real me anymore, Barty." He gestured helplessly. "Am I Harry the Death Eater? Or Harry the traitor?" He went quiet. "Harry the lover? Harry the father?"

Barty sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Why not all of them? Well, except for that first one. None of us are really that anymore are we? And as for a traitor; well, that's a bit of a misnomer isn't it? I like to think of it more as going rogue than being a traitor."

"That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell just as sweet," Harry smirked. "We can't change that, no matter what name you give it, we were traitors. Even if it was for the best."

Barty grinned, a real grin. "Well, what have we here? A bit of the old spark, I think." He clapped his hands and leaned back in his chair, plucking up his glass of wine in one hand. "Now, now that I've drawn you out of that little shell of yours, mind telling me what's really bothering you?"

Harry took in the image. From the way Barty was sitting to the glass of wine loosely held between his fingers to the almost-knowing smile on his face. Hell, even the dim underground setting was familiar. It was almost like old times.

"I suppose I just wish I could have stayed back there," Harry said. "In Godric's Hollow." A wistful smile crossed his lips. "I have a son, Barty. I honestly never really thought such a thing would happen to me. But, now that it has, I cannot be there. It is... _frustrating_." He sighed and looked away for a moment, then turned his gaze back, looking Barty directly in the eyes. "I don't know when, or even if, I will ever see my son or Hermione again. I don't know how long this little crusade we're on will take to complete, and given the lives we lead, I don't know if we'll even survive it."

Barty nodded along, as if he had expected all of this.

Harry went on. "Now, one has to take into account that doing what we are planning to do – that is, taking down an international body that not only has a presence in almost every magical nation but also practically governs them all from the background – that will not be a simple task in itself but also will have repercussions. It will send a shock-wave through our world that will in turn invite retaliation and possibly unsettle not one but several magical communities. Now, I could care less about the political consequences, but I'll have to force myself to care, not for myself but for my family. After all, I believe it was Plato who said 'One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors.' So, to stand by and let the vacuum of power fill without my own input would more than likely lead to more of the same that we've had for the past few centuries. Idiots, cowards. The weak. All of this, and then some have been plaguing my thoughts since we got here. Before I met my son, I had no care for what came next. For what came after this little war of ours. Now, I have to care."

Barty nodded his head. "Makes sense. The only thing is, Harry, you and me, we're warriors, not thinkers." He held up a hand to forestall Harry's protests. "Now, now. I'm not finished. Let me finish. Hear me out. Right, so, as I was saying. We're not thinkers, we're fighters. It's the role we've been given and by the gods we've played it well. That being said, it would be bloody difficult to step up as a leader in the political world as it is now. The people aren't used to their thinking being done by the same ones who lay down their lives in battle. It's a foreign concept in this day and age. Our fighting is done mostly by idiots and the thinking is done by cowards. I believe it was Thucydides who said that, or something to that effect...hm, I'm starting to think you and I spent way too much time studying philosophy back when I was your teacher."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe, but they aren't wrong, you know."

Barty tilted his head back and forth for a moment. "Eh, no, not really. I hate that. How can someone whose been dead for a couple thousand years still be smarter than most of the people alive today, who've had time to actually study what those people said?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

Barty looked at his wine and the back at Harry. "What were we talking about again?"

Harry smirked at his 'big brother'. "I believe you were possibly going somewhere to make a point in regard to how it would be difficult for warriors like us to be able to step up as leaders, what with the political world the way it is now."

Barty snapped his fingers as he took another drink of wine and refilled his glass. "Right, right. So, as I was saying, the people are leery of anyone from the fighting class becoming leaders. Especially now that there is no war. Scrimgeour could have become Minister during wartime, but I don't think he or Crouch have much of a chance of it now that we've killed Voldemort and ended the war. Now, as you say, what we are doing could very well upset the balance of power and create a vacuum. But, unless a war of some sort were to break out, we would have no real way to do anything about it all."

Harry shook his head. "Not necessarily true." At Barty's confused look, he smiled. "Two words, Barty: _coup d'_ _é_ _tat_."

Barty scoffed. "No. When the hell has that ever worked? Except in movies."

Harry thought for a moment. "Julius Caesar."

Barty shook his head. "Who was assassinated a few years later. Next."

"Dong Zhuo."

"Who was later killed by his own adopted son. Next."

"King James I."

Barty frowned. "All right, I'll give you that one."

"Napoleon Bonaparte. Antonio López de Santa Anna; twice. The May Overthrow in Serbia."

Barty held up a hand. "All right, all right, I get it. Still, more often than not, those attempts fail. One of the biggest examples is the Nazis. They tried to stage _coup_ and failed, resulting in Hitler going to prison for a year, though it was supposed to be five. He was pardoned. But, the point is that he had to gain power by legal means. Or, mostly legal means. Whatever. Anyway. My point is that no matter how much people love you or support you, you can't always do things by force." He took another swig of wine and Harry could see his face was growing flush from the alcohol. After not having any of it in so long, Barty was basically a light-weight again. "I think I'm being affected by this." He shook the glass for emphasis.

Harry snorted. "Noticed that, did you?" He stood up and went around the table to help Barty up. "Come on, mate. Up you get. Let's go and have a lie down, yeah?"

Barty swatted Harry's hands away. "Oi, who are you to treat me like I'm the child. I'm older than you."

Harry laughed. "Yes, but I'm not the one who decided to down half a bottle of wine after not having had a single drop in two years. You're out of practice. Regulus, make him lie down. He'll listen to you. And if he doesn't, just give him a good poke with that spear you have there."

Regulus chuckled and led Barty off to the bunks and forced him to go to bed. He came back a moment later to find Harry pouring himself a cup of ale.

"You ought to be careful with that yourself. It isn't as strong as the wine, but you've not had anything to drink in two years either," Regulus said as he resumed his work on sharpening the spears, the steady scraping sound of the whetstone on steel filling the silence.

Harry shrugged as he took a gulp of the rather bland stuff. It was cheap, but it would do the job. "You say that like I'd want to stay sober. After everything we just talked about, I could use a drink."

Regulus laughed without humor. "It's dangerous talk, all that. You wouldn't want word of that to get back to Malcolm and the others."

Harry raised a brow at that. "You going to tattle on us, Reggie?"

Regulus scowled at the not-quite-an-accusation. "Harry, you and Barty are my family. And you know us purebloods; our loyalties are to family first."

Harry nodded. "That's why I've always respected them more. That and I was basically raised to believe that all others were the scum of the earth, but that's neither here nor there. But, I will say this: if Malcolm and the others haven't already made plans for what comes after we topple the ICW, then someone has to."

Regulus nodded. "I agree. Plans beyond that point have been vague at best. We've been trying to take it a bit at a time with one goal in mind. After that, the outcome is too variable to properly plan for. We have spoken of it before, but nothing ever came of it."

Harry accepted this with a nod. "So, tell me, Regulus, how did you end up involved with this lot?"

Regulus snorted, almost to himself. "I met Malcolm at the White Wyvern. He owns it. One night, after we were both well in our cups, a rare thing for Malcolm, we got to talking about the Deathly Hallows. Not thinking straight, I told him that I knew the God of Death, who was the master of the Elder Wand. After some more talking, I met him again a few weeks later and he had Tiberius and Fergus with him. I thought they were gonna try and take the Elder Wand from me, but instead they came with an offer. They talked about their plans and ideas and said they'd help get you free if we helped them with their little revolution. I agreed. It took us a while to find two men who were willing to die for you but we eventually did and now, here we are and the rest, as they say, is history."

Harry listened to all of this without a word. Afterward, he spoke. "After the first few days I started to hear things. Voices, whispers, screams in the darkness. I couldn't always make out what was being said but I knew that it was every bad experience I had ever had projected back at me. I could hear my own cries as I was tortured by Voldemort as a child. I could hear...them. All the one's I had killed. Now, I didn't regret any of it, and I still don't, but after a while, the screams started to drive me mad. So, I shut myself down as best as I could. Went inside myself, where I was safe. I used every bit of Occlumency skill that I had to block it all out. And it worked, for a time. But every day that Nymphadora came to visit, I would allow myself to come out of myself and listen to her speak. It was like a cooling balm on a burn, hearing her voice there. It soothed me, knowing that at least someone was there with me, who cared. But after she would leave, I would have to go back inside my own mind but before I could do that, I would have to endure those voices for a time. It got harder and harder to protect my mind from the Dementors."

He paused and took a deep breath, as if what he was preparing to say was difficult for him.

"Honestly," he all but whispered. "I don't know how much longer I could have lasted in there without going completely mad. I may appear mostly fine, but I'm really not. I don't sleep well still and sometimes I can still hear the screaming when I close my eyes. And, if I'm this bad, I can't even imagine how Barty is. I guess what I mean is that if you hadn't gotten us out of there when you did, I may very well have died. As it is, I almost did." He hummed and then shrugged. "Thanks, Regulus. I don't remember if I thanked you for saving us, or for all that you did for us before. So, yeah, thanks."

Regulus chuckled. "You really are not very good at this, are you?"

Harry shook his head and took another swig of ale. "Hell no. I have very few friends, and that's both by choice and the fact that I am not particularly easy to like, let alone love."

Regulus smiled understandingly at Harry. "So, does this mean you've forgiven Barty and I for manipulating you into killing Voldemort and all that?"

"Not at all," Harry laughed. "Then again, you didn't do anything I wouldn't do so there really isn't anything to forgive; it all worked out in the end, after all. Now, that bastard, Voldemort, when I see him in Hel I'm gonna rip his lungs out of his back and watch him choke." The grin on his face when he said this told Regulus that this was something Harry was really looking forward to.

"Well, not to sound too sappy here, but hopefully you won't get that chance for a long time yet." Regulus set aside the spear he was sharpening and stood up. "I'm going topside to get some air. Care to join me?"

Harry nodded. "Barty will be out for a while yet, so I might as well." He followed Regulus down the short tunnel that ended in a set of stairs leading up to a trapdoor. "Isn't it a bit dangerous for us to go out in the open?"

Regulus nodded. "Probably, but it's getting late so we should be fine. Not much foot traffic in these parts, according to Charlie, just the odd party of raiders."

Harry blinked. "Raiders?"

Regulus bobbed his head in the affirmative. "Yeah. Dragons have a lot of parts that can be sold for no small sum of coin. Their hide alone is worth a few hundred-thousand galleons to the right market. Add in the teeth, the bones, the heart and the blood and you've got yourself a hefty payload. Those last two especially. Charlie says that every so often a party comes through and tries to down one of the dragons. Part of his job is to fight them off."

They walked through the main room of the house and Harry noticed more spears located next to the front door, for easy access, in case one of the smaller dragons decided to land and come at the house.

"So, what are the chances that we'll have a fight on our hands while we're here?" Harry asked as they stepped outside.

"Eager to get your hands bloody?" Regulus countered.

Harry smiled. "It's been to long since I've been in a fight. I'm rusty. I need to get back in the swing of things."

"I'd say our chances are pretty low. Charlie said something about a raid happening a few weeks ago. They usually take a few months in between tries." Regulus reached into his robes and pulled out his pipe, lighting it with his finger and taking a puff. "But, you never know. You might get lucky."

 **XXXX**

Harry was never the type to believe in luck. Probability? Sure. Luck? Not in the slightest. Did he believe that the universe itself played some hand in the lives and fates of everyone, whether for better or for worse? Well, that was a bit debatable but, that being said, he most definitely did not believe in coincidence.

So, when on the sixth day of their stay a raiding party decided it was going to use the cliff-face behind Charlie's house to get into the reserve, as it was less closely watched, instead of the open passes, Harry had the strangest feeling that someone or something out there was smiling on him and granting him favor.

Now, had they just been planning to sneak on by without disturbing the house, they might have let them be – more accurately, they might not have even known they were there at all – but they made the mistake of breaking into Charlie's house, and for that they were free game.

He, Barty and Regulus heard the commotion above them as they sat, down in the hidden room. The sound of the door being kicked in and something smashing. They were on their feet in a flash, wands drawn and bodies tense and alert.

Together they moved down the short tunnel and up the stairs. It was lucky that the trapdoor was positioned so that they could walk right in or out without having to climb a ladder or some other such hindrance, and thus it was that the three of them seemingly appeared in the midst of the men who had entered the house.

None of the men noticed them at first so Harry had a moment to take them in and study them. All in all, they were underwhelmingly normal looking for a group who called themselves 'raiders'. Muggle-style cargo pants in varying shades of camouflage patterns. Beyond this, there was nothing to really make them stand out from the average witch or wizard; though Harry did note that there were not any witches among them, just wizards.

Of course, this was all seen and processed in the span of a couple of seconds, and before the raiders even knew what was coming Harry and the other two tore into them with an eagerness that belied their still-weakened state.

The first man in front of Harry fell with a swift cutting curse to the chest. The hot blood splashed across Harry's face as he moved past his falling victim, not bothering to stay see if he had died from the wound.

He heard a shout, followed by a pained cry to his right. He glanced over to see that Barty had struck a man in the ribs with a bone-breaker curse, dropping him as easily as if he had used a killing curse. Of course, it was best for them to avoid using Unforgivable Curses, as they required more power to cast than the more common combat spells, so he could understand Barty not going for the killing curse right off the bat.

Regulus had no qualms about firing a few but in such close quarters with your allies moving about amidst the enemy, he was refraining.

Making a quick headcount of those that he could see inside the house, Harry estimated there were about ten still standing, and the initial three that they had felled. The house was open, with the kitchen, dining area and living area all combined into one large room. A staircase led up to the second floor of the house, which was occupied by a single large bedroom, where Charlie slept when he was home.

He engaged a tall man with a mane of greying blonde hair. He dodged a bright red jet of light from the big man's wand and slashed his own wand at him, an invisible blade of magic arcing out and slicing into the man's shoulder. He grunted as blood began to seep out and soak his shirt and making it difficult to use his arm. Another quick cut and the man fell, hands clutching uselessly at his opened throat.

Harry moved on. To his right he heard Barty fell another, then two more dropped to Regulus' lightning-fast spellwork before they could even raise their wands. Six to go in the house.

Harry was moving toward the small entrance area of the house when he heard a shout from behind him and turned around just in time to see a raider leveling his wand at him, its tip glowing an ominous green as the spell leaped forth from the tip. But, it never reached him. A few feet from him the spell impacted against a small table that had been thrown through the air to intercept the killing curse. The table exploded into shards, raining shrapnel and splinters down over Harry and his attacker, another raider getting caught in the hail of wood bits as well.

The moment of distraction was enough for Barty and Regulus to down Harry's attacker and the other who had been caught up in the explosion with a cutting curse and a blasting curse to the back, respectively.

"You're out of practice, Harry," Barty laughed, only to curse and dive clumsily behind a chair in the dining area as a spell flew at him. He fired blindly over the top of the wooden chair, but the spell missed its mark by nearly six inches.

Regulus appeared at Harry's side as the latter blocked a jet of blue light. "Be more vigilant. I might not be able to intercept the next one."

Harry nodded as he deflected a cutting curse into the wall, leaving a long, deep gash in the wood. He growled to himself. He was frustrated that his reflexes had suffered so much during his captivity and this was the first real chance he had had to see how truly bad the damage to his skills was.

Barty, it seemed, was being confronted with just how out of shape and practice he was too, as he was breathing heavily and his movements were not as fluid and fast as they had been before.

Regulus, having only had nothing but time while they were locked up, was a blur of motion as he fired off spell after spell at their enemies, who had taken up positions behind various pieces of furniture, hoping to draw them into a pitched battle.

Harry wasn't going to be having that.

Of the thirteen that had been in the house, only three were still left, Regulus having felled another in the time it took for Harry drop behind the couch for cover. He took a deep breath and thought about where he had last seen the three raiders. They were in the kitchen, hidden behind the overturned dining table, which they had pulled to them in hopes of revealing Barty.

He stood quickly and took aim. " _Reducto!_ "

The small blue light sped across the room and impacted against the table, splintering it and reducing it to naught but fractals. The three men behind it scurried to get to cover, but before they could get any further, they were mowed down by three sets of cutting curses from three different directions; one from the dining room where Barty was, another from Harry and the third from near the trap door at the back of the room where Regulus had taken up position. They fell, blood flowing into the wooden floors and seeping down between them.

After a moment of silence, Harry and Barty lowered their wands and ventured out from their hiding places.

"Is that all of them?" Barty asked, looking around like he expected more of them to jump out from the fireplace or something.

"I think so," Regulus said as he joined them.

Harry looked down at one of the dead men and kicked him softly with the toe of his boot. "A bit small for a dragon-raider party, don't you think? Didn't you say that Charlie said that there are usually at least thirty men in a raiding party?"

Regulus frowned and nodded, looking at the thirteen dead men, mentally counting them to himself. "Yes, I did say that."

Harry was moving from man to man, kicking them, making sure they were really dead, as Regulus spoke.

"Something about this doesn't feel quite right," Regulus said, more to himself than to Harry and Barty.

Barty nodded. "I agree. This can't be all of them."

Just as he said this, Harry kicked another man, who suddenly howled in agony. Harry started at the unexpected sound and aimed his wand at the man, but stopped himself from firing a spell to kill him. His mind caught up to him just in time and reminded him that dead men told no tales, but a live man was a well of information.

He knelt down by the man after moving said man's wand away from him. "Do you want the pain to stop?" he asked, prodding his wound, a long slash across the stomach from a cutting curse.

The man flinched and cried out, but nodded.

Harry smiled in a way that was almost sympathetic, except there was nothing going on in area of his eyes. They were just empty now. "I can take your pain away. Just tell me first, where are the rest of your men?"

The man glared at Harry for a moment, but his eyes screwed shut when Harry jammed his wand into the wound again, prodding it harder than before.

"Tell me where they are, and it will all stop." He jabbed again, the tip of his wand impacting against exposed muscle and organ.

"They...they're..." the man struggled to speak.

"Yes?" Harry coaxed.

"They're..."

"Spit it out."

"They're...coming."

Harry's eyes widened a moment, but soon fell back into their dead state. "Thank you." He angled his wand up into the body and muttered the cutting curse, the spell slicing through organs, shredding them. The pain was enough to make the man lose consciousness. He would be dead before he had the chance to wake up again.

"So, this was the advance party," Regulus said as Harry stood back up after wiping the blood off of his wand on the dead man's robes. "The vanguard. The others will be here soon, no doubt. We need to be ready."

Harry looked around the room and his eyes fell on the large spears sitting by the door. There were at least fifteen of them, and more down below, where they had come from. An idea sparked in his mind. "You both know the story of Vlad the Impaler, right?"

Barty nodded, following Harry's eyes. He frowned for a moment, before his eyes lit up. "Oh, I like this idea."

Regulus seemed to catch on as well. "I'm not sure it is a good one."

Harry walked over to the spears and grabbed one. "It's a shock tactic, Regulus. And when they see it, they will either flee or be stilled long enough for us to get the drop on them. We are but three men, if they're numbers are anywhere near as large as we think they are, we'll need the element of surprise. Remember, we can't be discovered here, and we can't just leave these men laying here, hide and hope for the best. We'll have to kill them all if we want to stay safe and alive."

Regulus sighed. "Merlin, I hate it when you're right."

He flicked his wand and more spears floated off the wrack. He directed them outside and used his magic to erect them in the ground, blades upward. He did this until there were thirteen spears, then watched as Harry levitated the first man up and dropped him onto a spear, sliding down until he met the small cross-guard at the end of the blade. He repeated this one by one until each spear had a dead body on it. While it was not as impressive as the veritable forest that Vlad III had been known for, Harry felt that it got the point across.

"Right, now, Barty, go back inside and position yourself in that upstairs window there," he pointed at a small square window that overlooked the front of the house. "Regulus, I want you in the trees. You can move about faster than us, so it's the perfect place for you. When they come, I want both of you to wait for my signal, then blast them with the most destructive spell in your arsenal, got it?"

"Got it," Barty nodded. "What's the signal?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll just make a motion with my hand. You'll know it when you see it."

Regulus looked doubtful but nodded as well. "And where are you going to be?"

Harry stood beneath the dead men. "Right here. Remember, shock tactic. If they see one man here, they'll hesitate a moment. Then I give the signal and you both strike. I'll move to just inside the doorway then."

Barty was already moving into the house to take up his position.

"Regulus, do a quick fly-over, see if you can see them," Harry said, looking at the eldest of their group.

Regulus nodded reluctantly and transformed, flying off with a _caw_. He circled wide and high before swooping back down to land in front of Harry in human form. "They're just about a half-kilometer that way." He pointed straight out from the front of the house. Looks to be about thirty-five or forty. Maybe more, maybe less. I didn't want to take too long and count."

"Right. Get to cover then. Should be a few minutes before they get here."

Regulus disappeared into the trees, leaving Harry standing alone amidst the impaled bodies of their victims.

Truth be told, he was brimming with energy. Adrenaline and the natural high of the heat of battle, and the promise of more to come had him practically bouncing on the heels of his feet in anticipation. It had been far too long and he could not wait to feel the thrum of power and the heightened senses that came during a fight.

He took a moment to steady himself, taking deep, slow breaths. His heart was pounding like a war drum and he was almost worried it might be too much for it so soon after two years of practically zero activity, but he trusted his body not to fail him now.

A short time later – it might have been five minutes or twenty, he had no way of telling – the sound of a large group of people stamping along the path reached his ears, growing steadily louder with each passing minutes until soon it was all he could hear; though mixed in where the sounds of indistinct conversation and the occasional bark of laughter.

The group appeared at the bend and rounded it, coming into full view of the house and the gruesome display that Harry had prepared for them.

A shout went out from one of the men at the front of the cluster and suddenly all went quiet as the group came to a halt. Harry could hear whispers and murmurs and could see some men pointing at him and the bodies.

Just as he had planned, they had stopped right out in the open, a perfect stationary target. Harry stood there, all dark and brooding, his long hair swaying slightly in the soft breeze and his dark, close-fitting robe helping to cut a sleek and intimidating figure; it was fortunate that they couldn't see how short he was in actuality.

A man stepped forward from the group, walking toward Harry. Harry raised his hand and the man stopped, hesitated, and then called out something that Harry could not understand, probably in Romanian. When Harry did not reply, he switched to English. "Who are you?"

Harry didn't bother answering, instead, he lowered his arm with a sharp motion, and not a second later twin explosions erupted in the center of the cluster of men, sending several to the ground either dead or dying, many of them missing limbs.

Chaos took over then as Harry joined the others in unleashing a barrage of cutting curses and blasting curses at the men as he backed up into the doorway of the house for cover.

All in all, with their perfectly executed surprise attack, they had managed to dwindle their numbers down to less than half within a few short seconds, and more were picked off or fell in a hail of curses immediately after. The man who had tried to speak to Harry, whom he assumed was the leader of the group, was laying with a several long slashes across his chest, stomach and neck, dead before he had hit the ground.

It was almost anticlimactic how quickly it was over. Sure, there had been a short pitched battle between about eight of the raiders and Harry's group, but they soon fell when they took shelter in the trees, where Regulus was still in hiding, his position not having been revealed due to the general confusion of the moment. He was able to get behind them and after that it was a simple task to bring them down before they even knew what hit them. All in all, it was quick, brutal and efficient and Harry swelled with pride to know that even weakened as he was, his mind could still work out good strategies of war and execute them. Now, if only he wasn't so damned tired afterward.

He didn't remember stumbling out of the house, nor did he remember collapsing onto the ground beneath his gruesome yard decoration. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Barty running out of the house and then the view of men impaled on spears silhouetted against the afternoon sky.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. Leave me a review to let me know what you think. Reviews make the world go 'round; and thanks to all who have reviewed so far.**


	10. Nurmengard

**X. Nurmengard**

Harry shot upright, gasping for breath. For the life of him he could not remember what it was he had been dreaming about. He vaguely thought there might have been dead people and spears, but that was not something he was willing to wager on.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Regulus and Barty kneeling beside him, looking quite worried. It was hard to focus on their faces as his vision was slightly blurred and his head was pounding something fierce. On top of that, he felt like he could do with some fifteen to sixteen hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was sorely tempted to just lay back in the dirt and pass back out again. The ground was kind of soft, if you really thought about it, right?

"Harry?"

He looked back up at them, not having realized that he had started to lean forward, his head sinking toward his chest. "What?"

"Are you all right?" Regulus repeated.

Harry groaned, his mind all fuzzy feeling. "Not really, no. I feel like I was just trampled by a team of hippogriffs or something."

"Do you remember what just happened?" Barty asked, leaning in worriedly.

Harry rubbed his forehead. Gods, it hurt like someone had driven a knife through it, then it all came rushing back. It hadn't been a dream at all. "We killed some raiders and then I passed out, I think."

Barty looked relieved. "Well, at least we know your head isn't cracked, yeah?" He chuckled and reached out to help Harry up. "You think you can stand?"

Harry nodded and accepted the hand that Barty offered him, planting his feet as the older man pulled him upward. Regulus was at his side, steadying him. Harry leaned against him as he was brought to his feet and took a few unsteady steps forward, toward the house.

"Come on, mate," Barty directed. "Let's get you back down to a bed. You can sleep it off and when you wake you'll be right as rain." He frowned. "You know, I've never really understood that phrase. Right as rain...huh. That doesn't make any bloody sense."

Harry chuckled at Barty's rambling but Regulus rolled his eyes. "In case you haven't notice, its always raining in England. Hell, when it isn't I sometimes start to think its a bad sign."

"For the record," Harry cut in as they started down the steps into the hidden tunnel. "It originated as a way to say something was going in a straight line."

Barty snorted. "Yeah, like that makes any sense. I think you're making that up."

Harry shook his head. He was too tired to argue the point.

"He might be on to something there," Regulus put in speculatively. "There was a time when 'right' meant 'straight' so it is possible. Rain often falls straight down unless there's wind, so right as rain could mean that its straight like falling rain."

Barty shrugged. "Eh, either way, it don't really matter does it? What are we even having this conversation for in the first place?"

"You started it," Harry mumbled as he dropped onto his cot.

"What?" Barty asked.

"You started it. You said I'd be right as rain after some sleep. Then you said you never understood that phrase." Harry smirked. "Remember that?"

Barty scoffed, grinning. "Yeah yeah. Go to sleep, little brother. I'm sure it'll all make more sense in the morning...or whenever you wake up."

Harry chuckled, but he was already asleep, so he didn't know that.

 **XXXX**

Harry awoke to the sound of heated discussion.

He dared not open his eyes yet, preferring instead to just lay there for a time. He had no idea how long he had been out, but he felt infinitely better than he had when he went to sleep. What was more, he didn't have any dreams, which was a relief. He couldn't quite place why it was a relief, but it was.

"...put us all at risk. We don't have a choice in the matter."

Was that Malcolm? What was he doing here?

"Let me jus' say that while this was not ideal, it certainly gives us some perspective."

Who was that? Tiberius? He was here too? What was going on?

"Oh, explain, please, how is that?"

That was Charlie. No doubt about it.

"Well, jus' think about it. Now, we know that we've made a sound investment in these two. Three against fifty an' the three come out on top. A bit like some fairy tale or somethin' innit?"

That was Tiberius again.

"As much as I hate to admit it, he is right."

He didn't know that voice at all. He was tempted to open his eyes and see, but held himself back for a moment longer.

"I told you before that Harry and Barty are a team to be reckoned with. Had they not switched sides during war, I have no doubts Voldemort would have won," Regulus interjected. "You doubt my judgment on such things, Fergus?"

Ah, so that was who the unfamiliar voice was. The mysterious third member of the little group they had thrown in with.

"Not at all," the slow Irish brogue responded. "I'm merely acknowledging that some good came of this little cock up. Though we do have the issue of what to do with all of the bodies."

"We could burn them," Charlie suggested. "I could try to sell the whole 'warring raiders' story but honestly it might be better just to destroy the evidence."

"It would take too long," Malcolm dismissed. "It takes several hours for a single body to burn. Add on more bodies and you add on to the total time. It just isn't efficient at all. Even if we had a cremation chamber it would still take up to three or four hours to completely destroy the body. Then we'd have to get rid of the bones. Contrary to popular belief, bones do not burn to ash. They have to be crushed. We don't have the time or tools for such a task. Unless you can get a dragon to have a go at them?" He must have been speaking to Charlie. "I didn't think so." And Charlie must have shook his head in the negative in response to that question.

"We could use _fiendfyre_ ," Barty spoke for the first time in this conversation.

"I don't think that is a good idea," Regulus disagreed. "Last time you used it, even you couldn't control it, and you were at full strength _and_ using the Elder Wand. I don't think any of us here have the skill to properly control that demon fire, and we risk razing the entire region before it either burns out or someone of adequate skill is able to douse it."

"We can' bury 'em either," Tiberius said, his voice thoughtful. "A mass grave like tha' isn' easy to hide an' would be discovered right quick. I'm thinkin' the best way to get rid of it all is to jus' scatter 'em. There's miles of open plain an' woodland 'round here. Just take 'em out an' drop 'em somewhere. Wildlife'll do the rest. You follow me?"

"Could even toss a few in the lakes and such," Malcolm added in. "Muggle drinking water is filtered and treated so they won't be affected by toxins and such."

"Just think of all the little fishes that get nice and big off of human flesh," Fergus chuckled darkly.

"We'd better get started then," Regulus said. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor told Harry that his friend had stood up from his seat as he said this.

"You aren't going to be doing anything except getting those two out of the area," Malcolm cut in sternly. "While I appreciate that this little show of force gives us an idea of what we have to work with right now, it also puts Harry and Barty in grave danger. If someone discovers what happened here before we cover it up and they find even a hint of Harry or Barty, all of our work will have been for nothing. So, the three of you will leaving tonight. I already have a portkey ready to take you all to your next stop."

"And where, pray tell, are you sending us now?" Barty asked in an annoyed fashion.

"You are going to a special location in the North Sea, between Germany and Denmark," Malcolm explain, making Harry perk up. That sounded like the location of... but no, it couldn't be...could it? "You'll be staying there for some time to receive training and recover your strength and speed."

"The North Sea?" Barty scoffed. "If you were gonna send us off to an island, couldn't we go somewhere more tropical or something? Hell, I'd even take the coast of France over those frigid waters. Where you sending us? Back to Azkaban? Tired of us already?"

"They're sending us to Nurmengard," Harry said, his voice cutting through the conversation like a knife through snow. All eyes turned to him as he sat up on the edge of his cot and ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Aren't you?"

Malcolm, Fergus and Tiberius exchanged a look, all but confirming it for Harry.

He smirked. "Don't even try denying it. I can see it in your eyes. We're going to Nurmengard, to see Grindelwald."

Barty raised a brow and looked back and forth between Harry and the others. When no one denied Harry's assertion, he gaped. "You can't be serious! How did you set that up, let alone get in touch with the man?"

"That was actually my doing," Regulus said, leaning forward with one hand raised like he was in school or something. "I'm sure Charlie has told you two about when he and Dumbledore caught me?" Charlie nodded to indicate that yes he had told them that, or at least Harry. "Dumbledore captured me not long after I discovered the Horcruxes and I was given to Charlie to torture for a time."

"No hard feelings, right, mate?" Charlie asked, though he didn't really seem too worried about it at all.

Regulus waved him off. "Business is business, and we were at war. Anyway, not long afterward, I'm not even sure how long it really was, but Charlie hadn't had time to do too much damage to me. Only broke the bones of one foot before Dumbledore came back and took me away. The beatings though.." he shuddered. "Anyway, Dumbledore took me to Nurmengard to stay with Grindelwald for a time. Grindelwald's House Elves healed me and fed me. I stayed there for a year or two before heading back to England. That was where I went through the process to become an animagus. Hardest process ever. Very time consuming. Anyway, after your imprisonment, I went to see him again and he offered to help out if we were ever able to get you out of Azkaban. He's very eager to meet you, Harry."

"As I am to meet him," Harry smiled.

"After I met this lot," Regulus gestured at Malcolm, Fergus and Tiberius, "and we figured our plan to get you out, I contacted Grindelwald and asked him if it would be okay if I hid you two in Nurmengard and he agreed, so there's the long-story-short version of it all."

"Ah, first we get to visit Charlie, then we get to slaughter of bunch of foolish weaklings and now we get to meet the Greatest Wizard alive. Reggie, Malcolm, you're spoiling us." Harry grinned, the ache of his body and the slight fatigue he still felt all but forgotten. "Shall we get started doing whatever it is that needs doing before we leave so that we can get a move on? No offense, Charlie, as it has been great to be here, but I've been waiting for this chance since I first read about Grindelwald in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ when I was six years old."

Charlie shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

Fergus hummed. "You're enthusiasm is noted, but remember what they always say: never meet your heroes."

Harry shrugged as if he could care less. "I don't care if turns out to be exceedingly normal or isn't as great as he used to be. That isn't the point of meeting someone you look up to. You don't meet them gush about how great they are or to bask in their glory or some shite like that. You meet your heroes to learn from them and benefit from their experience and wisdom."

Fergus was not impressed, but then again, Harry almost got the impression that the sky could literally be on fire and the man would just yawn and roll his eyes; unless it was his doing, in which case he would be grinning mischievously like it was the best joke in the world. "Suit yourself," he said before turning to head toward the tunnel leading out of the underground bunker. "I'm going to go get started on poisoning the water supply," he told Malcolm and Tiberius, nodding toward Regulus before disappearing.

"Don' mind him, lad," Tiberius said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "He's not usually so sour, he's jus' a being a miserable fuck is all. He's all homesick, he is. Hasn' been home to Ireland in weeks." He motioned his hand in a 'what can you do?' fashion and started out of the room as well. "You boys keep yourselves safe, ya hear? Don' worry about this mess, we'll take care of it. You jus' focus on getting' back in proper fightin' shape so we can bring some law an' decency back to our kind." With that, he was gone too.

Malcolm reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like a muggle child's toy. It was brightly colored and roughly circular in shape, with just enough room for each of them to take hold with one hand. The older man noticed Harry eying it and smirked. "It's a chew toy for my son's dog. He's got plenty, so he won't notice this one being gone."

Harry nodded, though he really couldn't care less.

Malcolm handed it to Regulus. "The activation code is _F_ _reiheit_. Can you remember that?"

Regulus nodded. "Yeah. I learned a bit of German while I was at Nurmengard. It was easier for the House Elves to understand than English. Word of warning there, you two will have to learn some German in the near future." He looked at Barty and Harry at these last words.

Barty sighed. "Fine. Just expand our workload by making us learn one of the most difficult languages on Earth. Thanks, Reggie, you really are spoiling us."

Malcolm shook his head, a small bit of amusement on his face. "I have to go. I'll need to help the others clear up as much as I can before heading back to London. I've got to see to the pub tonight, since it's Hermione's night off."

Harry perked up at the sound of Hermione's name. "Keep an eye on her for me, would you?"

"Fear not, Mr. Potter," Malcolm said. "Within my establishment, she is in safe hands. And your Auror friend, Ms. Tonks, has been stopping by after her shift when Hermione works to keep her company and escort her home this past week."

Harry felt a rush of relief flow through him at these words. At least Hermione had Tonks to keep her company in his absence. And Lily. And Hugo.

He longed to return to them all. It had been far too long already and it was just going to be longer still, but he was in this now and there was no going back. He was going to meet Grindelwald, something he had been wanting to do since he as six years old, living at Malfoy Manor. But, given the choice between going to Nurmengard to learn from Grindelwald or going home to his family, he would go to his family; so it was lucky for 'the cause' that that option was not on the table.

"Farewell, all," Malcolm said as he started toward the tunnel that led back to the house. "It may be some time before any of us meet again. If it is indeed later rather than sooner, then godspeed to you all." With that, he too was gone, leaving Harry, Barty, Regulus and Charlie behind in the bunker.

"Well," Charlie sighed. "We all knew it was gonna happen eventually, so let's not cheapen the moment with sorrowful or weepy goodbyes. We all know none of us would mean it anyway."

Barty laughed and clapped the redhead on the back. "I like this guy. He knows what's what. Right, mate, good to see you and all that, but we've got a trans-continental, possibly inter-dimensional, nausea-inducing magical transportation device to catch."

"You mean a portkey, right?" Charlie asked, giving Barty a strange look.

"Yeah, yeah," Barty agreed. "A portkey. That's what I meant to say. Sometimes the words just sort of...slip out, in a mess. It's quite horrifying really." He paused, his eyes glazing over into a faraway stare, then shrugged, snapping back to normal. "Anyway, we'll see you again whenever we see you again, that's the way these things work. Thanks for the bed, the booze, the food and the people to kill. Really, it's been fun. Well...yeah, it's been fun."

Charlie chuckled as Harry shook his head. There was the Barty he knew, always rambling on about something or another and not always making a lot of sense to anyone but himself.

Regulus shook Charlie's hand firmly. "See you around, mate. And, seriously, there's no hard feelings for the beating you gave me years ago."

Charlie nodded, accepting this.

He turned to Harry now and extended his hand to him. Harry grasped it firmly but was caught off guard when Charlie pulled him in for a solid but short hug. "It's good to have you back, kid," Charlie said, smiling. "It'll be hard not to tell the others about you, but I hope soon enough we can all get back together as a team again. It's been too long since we were all in the same country, let alone the same room."

"It will be nice," Harry agreed. "Soon enough, Charlie. Soon enough. I mean, come on, it's not like we're facing the world here."

"No," Charlie agreed. "Just one of the organizations that runs it." He smiled that gentle smile he was known for. "You keep yourself safe, you hear. I don't want to have to be the one to tell Hermione that you died twice. She'll kill me." He stepped back from Harry, releasing his hand. "All right. No point in lollygagging. Gather your things and meet me out front of the house."

Harry nodded and set about gathering up what few possessions he had, slipping into his boots and double-checking his wand holster and wand. Regulus and Barty did the same, each hefting a rucksack onto their shoulders. Harry lifted his from the beneath his cot and slung it over his shoulder. It contained a few changes of clothes and his personal drinking cup, plate, bowl and utensils. They all had their own, more out of paranoia than anything else. They weren't in the position to be able to trust someone else's cup or bowl, lest they be poisoned. It wasn't that they didn't trust Charlie and the others, though Harry wasn't sure about that Fergus fellow, it was just a habit they were getting into.

"Is that everything?" Regulus asked, taking over his role as the eldest. "Do a quick double-check before we head out. Don't want to forget anything. Leave no traces, and all that.

Harry waved his wand at the cot he had been using and it shrunk down and flew into a storage container at the back of the room. Barty and Regulus did the same. After another quick sweep, they were certain that they had gotten everything and the three set out down the tunnel, Regulus in the lead and Harry bringing up the rear.

They climbed the stone stairs up to the trapdoor, which was left open for them, and out into the main part of the house, which had been fixed up and repaired since their impromptu battle in there. Gone were the blood stains and splintered walls, the demolished furniture had been replaced and it all looked as good as new. Harry couldn't even tell that a fight had taken place, and he knew what to look for, so an outsider would have no idea at all.

Harry followed the others out of the house and into the front lawn, which wasn't really much of a lawn.

The first thing Harry noticed was that what the spears and bodies were gone from right in front of the house. The spears were cleaned and leaning against the front side of the house, not a bit of blood left on them and the ground looked undisturbed, and also clean of blood. Harry had to give it to them, those three were damned good at cleaning up messes. Off down the road a bit, Harry could see Tiberius levitating a dozen or so bodies behind him as he set off into the woods to hide them, going off into the dragon preserve in the direction that Harry and the others had come from when they arrived. It was the route the raiders must have been planning to take to get in when they came here.

Charlie was standing there, his long coat swaying in the breeze, watching Tiberius disappear into the shadows of the trees.

The sky was a burnt orange color as the sun sank toward the horizon, the few clouds in the sky taking on an almost purple hue. Harry took a moment to observe the natural beauty of the world as the light left it and the night took over dominion of the land. It was when the sun went down that the world truly came alive and was at it's most beautiful. It was...ethereal.

"You'll be moving back in time a bit with this jump," Charlie said as they joined him. "The sun won't yet be setting where you're going. Not quite yet. You're going back an hour, give or take. You'll get to see two sunsets today. Funny how that works isn't it?"

Barty shrugged. "Honestly, given that we can actually bend and turn time, this isn't all that impressive."

"I think what he means is that magic isn't really a factor here. If you were to use one of those flying devices that the muggles travel in, you could accomplish the same thing," Regulus said. "It's the little things, Barty. Appreciate the little things. Even the mundane can be magical."

"So, are we ready to go?" Harry asked, turning the focus back to the matter at hand.

Charlie nodded. "Whenever you all are ready, you can go. I'm going to be joining in the clean up effort as soon as you are gone. Feed a few raiders to a dragon or two. Wouldn't be the first time a raider was 'killed' by a dragon." He smirked. "Get going."

Harry turned to Regulus expectantly, waiting for him to hold out the portkey to them. Regulus took another look at the sinking sun and then extended his arm toward Harry. Barty took hold immediately, with Harry following suit a second or two afterward.

"Ready?"

Nods all around greeted Regulus' question and he cleared his throat. " _Freiheit_."

The world around them spun in a swirl of oranges and reds before lightening somewhat as they were lifted from their place in Romania and thrown back to the west. Suddenly the area around them became grey and they found themselves sprawled out on hard stones not a second after; or at least Barty and Harry did. Somehow, Regulus had managed to stay standing, despite the uneven ground upon which they had landed, but it was a near thing.

Harry rolled onto his back and peered up at the slightly cloudy sky, a lighter shade of orange than what it had been in Romania, but even here the sun was beginning to dip, whereas it had been sitting just on the horizon when they left Romania.

Harry sat up, the sound of waves upon rocks reaching his ears. He turned his head toward the sound and found that he was sitting not three feet from the edge of a sheer cliff that plunged down a few hundred feet to the crags and ocean below. Looking in the opposite direction he saw a forest. He couldn't see beyond that though.

He climbed to his feet and his eyes found the great tower of Nurmengard. It looked just as it did in the books he had read. Tall and imposing, proud and strong. Made of stone the same color as those they had landed on, with no wall or gate.

Without waiting for the others, Harry started toward the base of the tower, where he knew the entrance would be.

As he neared it, he smiled, seeing the words ' _F_ _ü_ _r das h_ _öhere_ _Wohl_ ' carved large and bold above the solid wooden doors and the symbol of the Deathly Hallows in the center of the doors, each door bearing half of the symbol so that when they were closed the two halves came together to complete the whole.

He paused at the door, one hand coming up to touch the symbol, his other wrist moving to allow his wand to fall into his hand.

He recalled a story about Grindelwald killing an entire team of wizards that had tried to infiltrate Nurmengard. He killed them before they even cleared the doors. And while that was many years ago and the Great Wizard was an old man now, he had seen how powerful Dumbledore had been, even in his old age. It would not do to underestimate the man who was now the Greatest Living Wizard in the world. That was a good way to end up dead.

Harry pushed open the doors slowly and waited. After a moment, when no attack came, he looked behind him, to find Regulus and Barty waiting for him to go forward. Both had their wands drawn too, though Regulus looked amused by their caution.

Harry turned back to the tower and stepped inside with the other following on his heels.

The interior of the tower was dark and slightly cool. Harry could see with his enhanced vision that the room they were standing in was open and very spacious and the ceiling sat about fifty feet above their heads.

Suddenly, the doors slammed shut behind them and Harry, acting on instinct, dove to the side. Not a second later, a bright red bolt of light struck where he had been standing. He barely had time to erect a shield before another spell hit it, almost breaking it.

Barty and Regulus had scrambled for cover too and were trying to defend themselves against the onslaught of spells and curses.

Harry's shield broke under the next spell and he was forced to start dodging and deflecting the rest of the attacks, having nowhere to hide.

"What the hell is this?" Barty growled. "I thought you said you were friends with this guy!"

Regulus grimaced. He sighed and then shouted something out in German. The spells stopped raining down on them and a voice called back, also in German. Regulus responded.

Harry and Barty sat listening to the back and forth, though they could not understand it. Finally, a laugh sounded from above them and Regulus stood up from his crouched position. Near Harry, there was a staircase that led up along the wall of the room in a steady spiral until it disappeared into the floor of the landing above. At the top of the stairs a figure could now be seen.

"Come on up then, Mr. Potter," the figure called down. "I've been waiting for you." With that, the man turned and entered the landing above.

Harry looked at Regulus, who was holstering his wand and shaking his head. He looked at Harry. "Best get moving. We'll be right behind you."

Harry nodded and started up the stairs. Barty made to follow, but Regulus held out a hand, stopping him in his tracks, shaking his head.

"He wants to speak to him alone first," Regulus explained. Barty didn't look happy, but he nodded, sneering up to where the figure had been standing, his tongue flicking out like a snake's in agitation.

Once Harry reached the second landing, the voice spoke again. "It has been some time since I used a wand for anything more than simple maintenance and other menial tasks. It is not as easy as it once was. Though it would seem my speed and power are still enough to contend with those far younger and sprier than I. That being said, you handled yourself well, Mr. Potter. I must say, I am impressed. Two years in Azkaban can not have done anything good for your skills, and yet you were able to keep up with me. I tremble to think the speed and power you would wield at your best."

Harry took a moment to study the man before him. He was old, to be sure, but he did not look anywhere near his one-hundred and eighteen years. Closer to seventy, if Harry would have had to venture a guess; Dumbledore hadn't looked his age either. It was a magical thing, Harry knew. Wizards and Witches didn't age the same as muggles. Magic had a certain de-aging effect on the cells, keeping them younger longer once they reached a certain age or potency.

The man's hair was white as snow, still as full as it had been in youth, and cropped short, the top longer than the sides or back and combed back from his face. He was dressed in black robes that, while not as close-fitting as Harry's, were nowhere near as loose as those worn by most wizards. They were almost like those worn by Aurors or Hit-Wizards. He was tall, too, Harry noticed, standing straight with no bending of the back or shoulders like some old men. There was no wand in his hands, though that didn't mean that he didn't have one on him. He had just said that he had used one, or at least implied as much.

"Gellert Grindelwald, I presume," Harry said, stopping in the middle of the room. "If not, you have me at a disadvantage, as you know my name and I do not know yours."

The man chuckled and turned to face him. His upper lip, chin and jaw were hidden behind a beard and mustache as equally white as his hair, and his eyes were two different colors: the left was a pale, icy grey-blue that seemed to almost glow in the low light and the right was darker and more green. He smiled at Harry, obviously amused by something he had said.

"Well, aren't you just the picture of politeness?" He said. "The Malfoys raised you well, I see. Yes, yes. I know all about that. I know much about you, Mr. Potter. Regulus does so like to tell stories. However, it was your more recent exploits that brought you more to my attention. You are correct to presume, Mr. Potter. I am indeed Gellert Grindelwald. It is an honor to meet you." He bowed slightly, but never took his eyes off of Harry. Harry mimicked the move. They both stood back to attention together. "You need not keep your wand drawn, Mr. Potter," Grindelwald said, gesturing to the wand that Harry still held in his hand. "I will not attack you again. Not right now, anyway."

Harry didn't move to holster the wand. "I think I'll keep it out a while longer," he said. "After all, when faced with one such as yourself, it is best not to let ones self become complacent."

Grindelwald smirked. "As you will." He shrugged. "Regulus tells me that you are a great admirer of mine. That alone is rare enough these days, but even more so in one so young, even those raised by Purebloods of the more... _extreme_ sort. Tell me, what is it you admired the most?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Your vision," he answered. Grindelwald raised a brow, prompting Harry to explain. "You had a vision of a world where the line between magical and muggle no longer existed. A world where magic was the way of the world, not this weak, fear-mongering farce we live in now. You saw what we as a species could become and I admired that, more than anything else. Unfortunately, now, like then, the world is not ready for such a vision, no matter how great it is. They cling to an illusion that we are stronger and better, but the truth is that the muggle world has advanced so far in the last few hundred years that we are being left behind in the dust. If those in power weren't so afraid of change, we might still be what you said we could be. Alas, it cannot be while the Wizarding World is as it is. Something must change in order for us to change with the rest of the world. Maybe, if we set the right wheels in motion, that vision you once had might become reality."

Grindelwald stood silent while Harry talked, not moving a muscle or giving any outward indication of how he felt about the words he was hearing. When Harry finished, he nodded. "You haven given it much thought, I see. And you answered in a way I had not expected. Of the few who have ever visited me here, or of whose writing I have read, they all answered with such things as my power or the fear and respect I commanded. The shadow I cast upon our world, that men and women still cower in the face of to this day. But you, you admired not the means or the method, nor even the man, but the goal. In the end, that was all I cared about as well. _F_ _ü_ _r das_ _größere_ _Wohl_. For the Greater Good." He smiled as Harry spoke the last words with him. "I see now what Albus spoke of when he last visited me, before you killed him. No, do not fear. You gave him a good death. He knew it was coming, he told me as much himself. He was a good friend, and an even better man, and I miss him dearly, but he has gone on to the next adventure. It is not so bad."

Harry nodded. "I did not wish to kill him," he admitted. "But it had to be done. I made sure he passed on with honor, at the hand of one who admired and respected him. I considered him a friend, at the end."

Grindelwald smiled. "We would not be speaking now if it had been otherwise, I assure you, Mr. Potter."

Silence fell over them for a long moment before Grindelwald exhaled.

"Call your friends up, Mr. Potter. It is getting late and the sun will fall soon. I'll have the elves prepare you all a meal and draw some baths. We'll speak more in the morning." He called out something in German and a small House Elf appeared in front of Harry, bowing deeply.

Harry called Barty and Regulus up to him and turned to follow the Elf. During that time, Grindelwald had taken his leave and now stood at the top of the tower, gazing out over sea at the setting sun. "Albus, my old friend," he spoke. "You were right. I see it now. The gleam. It's like looking into a mirror to the past. Let us hope he fares better on this path than I did."

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Alright! Another chapter down and we have the introduction of Grindelwald! Yay! Now, I based the appearance of Grindelwald more off of how he looked in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, as portrayed by Johnny Depp, just a lot older. Could still be played by Depp, he's played an old man before, with a lot of prosthesis and make-up, but whatever. Imagine him how you will, I just picture him as an older-looking Johnny Depp with a beard rather than just a mustache. The hair is the same as it was in the movie.**

 **Anyway, I hope it lived up to your expectation of that event. I wanted to portray their meeting almost as more of a 'job interview' and less of a 'meeting the famous guy/idol/master' sort of thing. Grindelwald strikes me as the type who would want to see if this kid he's heard so much about was actually any good. And also to see if he was worthy of being his spiritual successor, as it were. So, I hope I pulled that off.**

 **Also, part one was written before Fantastic Beasts was released and thus the reveal of Graves' true identity was not known at the time, and in this story Graves is alive and President of MACUSA. That will be explained later in a way that will allow for the canon events of the film as well that this story.**

 **Anyway, leave me some feedback and I'll see you in the next chapter!**


	11. Rites of Passage

**XI. Rites of Passage**

The cool sea air blew through Harry's hair, tugging the ends up to dance and sway gently with its currents. He stood at the top of the Tower, looking out over the glistening blue waters as the morning sun shone down on them from behind him. Somewhere, across those waters, was England, his home, where his family waited. He could feel the tug in his chest calling him back even at that very moment; unfortunately, it was a call that he would not be able to heed for a long time to come.

It was quite early yet, and the others had not yet stirred from their sleep. Or at least Barty and Regulus had not. He hadn't seen Grindelwald since he had disappeared after their sudden duel and following conversation the previous evening. He didn't know where the man slept, but there were many closed doors in the Tower, and Harry knew better than to go around opening doors in a place that he was not familiar with and was home one of the most famous 'Dark Lords' ever to live.

It was by a stroke of luck that he had found his way up to the very top on his own. He had been climbing the stairs, thinking it might help him with his stamina training, when he noticed the door standing ajar and a cool ocean-scented breeze was blowing through.

It had still been dark outside when he stepped out onto the rampart, and now the sun was painting the landscape in hues of orange as it rose higher and higher in the sky at his back.

"Would Young Sir like something to drink or eat?" a heavily accented voice asked from near his knee.

Harry looked down at the old Elf, not having heard him appear beside him. "Some tea, with cream and honey, please," he answered.

The Elf bowed and disappeared without a sound. Harry raised a brow, impressed with the silent apparation the Elf had performed. His own Elves were not so skilled, still emitting a small _pop_ with every apparation.

He turned back to the sea and smirked. His cup of tea, served in a wooden mug with no handle on the side, was sitting on the parapet, steam wafting lazily from the hot liquid. He picked it up and blew on it softly to cool it before taking a long sip of the semi-sweet drink. He sighed in contentment as the warmth spread through him and the honey coated his throat. It wasn't quite as good as what Dobby used to make for him but for an Elf that didn't know his personal tastes, it was pretty good.

Taking another sip, he turned his eyes back to the ocean, hearing the waves crash against the rock-face far below. The steady rhythm of it soothed him, as the quiet song of birds as they greeted the morning in the trees that surrounded the Tower on the opposite side from the sea and cliffs.

Nurmengard, as it turned out, was located on an island in the waters between Germany and Denmark. The island was not overly large, perhaps little more than a square kilometer all around, and most of it was covered in a thick forest, save for the white beaches that made of three of the four sides of the island. The fourth was crags and cliffs where the Tower was located, at the highest point of the island.

From where Harry was standing, he could see the entire island.

There were no other structures on the island that housed Nurmengard, and there was no other human presence on the island beyond Grindelwald himself, and now Harry and his brothers. There were no guards, no watchmen, nothing of that sort. There was absolutely nothing keeping Grindelwald there, and yet he had not once tried to leave the island and make another bid for power. It was something that not many people ever thought about. He had spoken to Hermione of it once before, while they had been spending Yule at Potter Hall. He had posed her the question of why Grindelwald never left, when he could do so at any time. She had first answered that it was because he knew he was wrong in what he had done and his reasons for doing it, but Harry had claimed that that was not so. Of course, he didn't know for sure why, having never met the man before the previous day, but from what he had read of the man and heard of him from Albus, he had believed he was right. He had said it was because he knew that the world as it was was not ready for the changes he sought to bring about.

He wondered now if that was true.

He took another long drink of his tea.

"There is something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life." Harry turned at the sound of the soft, wise voice behind him. He found himself watching Grindelwald walk out onto the rampart with him, hands held behind his back and head slightly down-turned. "A man by the name of Lin Yutang said that. He was a squib from China. I met him once, in the thirties. He was an interesting fellow. I would not call him a friend, as I only met him the one time, but it is a memory I will not forget."

Harry did not respond to this as the old man came to stand beside him, his dark robes billowing slightly in the breeze.

"Throughout our lives we meet many people, some great, some less so, but they all have some impact on us and who we become. Whether it be to reaffirm our own character or to show of that path that we must never venture down. Or to give us something to aspire to." Grindelwald sighed and looked out over the ocean. "I met many people in my life, but none made such an impact as Albus Dumbledore. He and I were as close as two people could be. He was my best friend and my brother, though I know that is not where he had wanted to be. He loved me, I know this, and I loved him too, in my way." He sighed again. "It was not the way he wished, but it was love all the same."

"He spoke of you often," Harry said, finally breaking his silence. "At least to me. He knew I looked up to you and sought to make me better understand who you were from the perspective of one who knew you, as opposed to what the Ministry would have me think."

Grindelwald nodded. "Yes. He told me of you when he came to visit me. Yule was always one of my favorite times of year. At Durmstrang, there was always this large celebration. We would make sacrifices to the Old Gods, sing songs and drink ale and mead. Then, at night, we would all strip naked and run through the forest with torches and raise our voices to the northern lights. It was a time of friendship and family and of light in the darkness. Of course, I would later learn that the light wasn't all it was boasted to be."

"The light is a crutch, for those who could no longer see in the dark," Harry said, wondering where the words had come from.

Grindelwald finally turned his head toward Harry with a small smile, his white teeth showing. "Yes, that is the basic idea. Though, in truth, the real dynamic of light and dark is too complex for even I to fully grasp." He scoffed. "Albus was more adept at such things than I. Tell me again, how did he die?"

Harry sighed, casting his mind back to that night. "He and I had gone to retrieve what we thought was a piece of Voldemort's soul, housed in a vessel known as a Horcrux. You have heard of these?" Grindelwald nodded, though he didn't say anything. His eyes were closed as he listened to Harry speak, as though he were trying to picture it all. "I already knew that I would have to kill him. It was what I had been sent there to do. I didn't want to do it, but my hand was forced. Voldemort didn't trust me as much as we had thought and had set up a second assassin, along with a plan to infiltrate the school with an assault group. They were in the castle when we returned, and Albus was weakened by a potion that he had to drink to get to the Horcrux. I was able to turn my wand on him before anyone saw that I had been helping him only a moment before. Of course, I hesitated, and Albus saw it. He told me 'It's okay, Harry. I do not fear death. To the well-organized mind death is but the next great adventure'." He saw Grindelwald mouth the last words with him, nodding. "So I killed him. Killing Curse. It was quick and he died with a smile on his face."

Grindelwald inhaled and then let the breath out in a slow rush as he contained an emotional reaction. "It is good that he did not suffer at the end." He turned to Harry and opened his eyes. "It would have been his wish that I take you under my wing. He spoke of it when he visited me. He said he saw something in you. Something that reminded him of me. I do not know what it was, but I hope in time that his judgment will prove false and that I will instead see something in you that reminds me of him. For all that I was the fire that burned bright and drew people to me like moths to that flame, he was the one who kept that flame from becoming a wild fire."

Harry let his lips curl up in a small smile. "If I have even a spark of either of you in me I shall count myself lucky."

It wasn't flattery, because he meant it. Albus Dumbledore had been a good man and wise man. He was not perfect, and he had known it. He did the best he could with the hand he was dealt and Harry admired that. His path in life had changed drastically due to his time with Albus and he knew that his path would be further changed by Grindelwald himself. As Grindelwald had said, everyone you meet has an impact on who you are, and he knew just from these short conversations that this man would be one of them, just as Albus had been, just as Barty and Regulus had been, just as Charlie had been, just as his mother had been, just as Nymphadora had been. Just as Hermione had been; And his son, Hugo, who had changed so much in such a short time.

It seemed Grindelwald could tell as much because he smirked and his eyes lit up with a small spark of life and a glint of determination. "We shall see, Mr. Potter." He started back into the Tower. "Do not linger too long atop here. It is easy to become lost in one's thoughts here, and in doing so one forgets the important things. Like breakfast."

Harry did not reply as he turned his eyes back to the horizon, taking a sip of his still-hot tea. This would be his home for the foreseeable future but he knew better than to dwell on things that could not be changed. Hermione had taught him that, in her way. "Eyes on the horizon, Potter," he whispered to himself with a smirk. He took another sip of tea and turned to follow Grindelwald into the Tower, where breakfast awaited, and the promise of the wisdom of one who had lived a long life.

 **XXXX**

Conversation over breakfast consisted mostly of Grindelwald telling them all war stories from the Great Wizarding Revolution, also commonly called the Global Wizarding War and the First Magical World War by various media outlets and history texts.

He told them of his time at Durmstrang, and of his being expelled for a slew of experiments on a three students and a staff member; a muggleborn, a half-blood, a pure-blood and a squib who worked for the school. It was rare enough that a muggleborn was allowed to attend Durmstrang, and even less so now. Grindelwald theorized that his targeting of one might have been a reason for the current no-muggleborn policy that the school had adopted.

As he told it, his experiments had been a precursor to those that he had performed with German geneticist Ernst Rüdin. He had wanted to see if there were any obvious differences in their genetic makeup, as well as that of their magic in general. Unfortunately, he was caught in the midst of an experiment and severely wounded a professor, resulting in his expulsion.

"The problem, I came to realize," Grindelwald said, lifting his cup of tea to his mouth to take a sip. "Was that we assumed that there was a center-point from which the magic in our bodies came forth. A pool, or a 'core', if you will. It has been theorized by many that such a thing exists inside of us but there has never been any proof of it. Instead, I feel more that our magic flows through our entire body like an endless stream. Think about it, when you cast a spell wandlessly, you feel the magic in your arm and hand, _ja_?" Harry and Barty nodded. Regulus had heard this all before. "Imagine, for a moment that you could channel your magic from anywhere in your body, say for example to cast a _Incendio_ charm from your mouth, like the breath of a dragon, or add the destructive force of a blasting curse to a kick or punch."

"It cannot be done," Barty said, taking a bite of bacon. "It all sounds good in theory but it cannot be done."

Grindelwald nodded. "You are right, it cannot. Not without further research. I think though, that one day, in the future, there will be ways to do such things, and that everyone, muggle and magical alike, will be able to learn such things, with the right amount of training and dedication." He took another drink. " _Ach_ , it is but an old man's dream. If it ever comes to pass, it will not be in my lifetime, I fear. Anyway, as I was saying before. The problem with the experiments we conducted was that we sought to awaken the markers in the DNA that activated the production of the magical energy with out bodies. What we didn't count on was the sudden explosion of magic from within. So much raw magic produced so suddenly into a body that was neither prepared for nor able to adapt to such raw power. It was like the birth of a star within the flesh and the flesh could not contain it. What I later discovered, near the end of the war, was that the amount of magic we have grows with our bodies over time from birth, and our body adapts to it as it grows, thus it does not harm us as it did those people. I was working on a method to make the production of magic slow drastically until the body was used to it. Unfortunately, I was unable to finish my research."

"So, it cannot be done?" Harry asked, thinking of Hermione and her parents. She had once told him that her parents felt a distance between them and her because she was part of a world that they could never be a part of and were not welcome in due to their lack of magic. It disappointed him that he could not fix this for her.

Grindelwald shrugged. "I will not say that it is impossible, but I will say that it is dangerous. If one were to see early on, within the first few years of life, that a child did not have magic, they could, in theory, activate the genes and the child would not be overly harmed by it. Perhaps uncomfortable for a time, but compared the suffering a child goes through when it cuts its first teeth, it would be a mild irritation at best. The older the subject, the more dangerous it becomes."

Harry frowned. "You never discovered how to make it work for adults then?"

Grindelwald shook his head. " _Nein_. I did not."

Harry could not hide his disappointment.

"Would it be possible to resume your research?" Barty asked, seeing the look on Harry's face.

Grindelwald chuckled. "I do not think so. I dare not leave this island. It has been almost sixty years since I surrendered to Albus and was thrown in here. I doubt many would recognize me now, but I am not one of _them_ anymore. There is nothing for me out there. Not anymore."

Regulus sat up. He didn't exactly know why Harry was so curious about this process but he trusted Harry and knew that there _was_ a reason for it. "What if I could get you everything you would need for it? Would you do it?" Grindelwald looked pensive and a bit hesitant. "Think about it, if you must. I am offering you the chance to at least make one of your dreams come to fruition."

"Think of the good it could do," Harry added in. "The changes that could be brought with such research refined and tested. You and Albus once said that your revolution was for the Greater Good of humanity, magical and muggle alike. You can make that a reality. I know Albus fought against you, but he never stopped believing in your cause. I know that there are many out there who would embrace this change. To name a few off the top of my head, there's Argus Filch, the caretaker at Hogwarts. He's a squib, and has desperately been trying to learn magic since he was a young man. Wendell and Monica Granger, two muggles, parents to a muggleborn witch, who feel that they can't quite relate to their daughter anymore because she belongs to a world that hates and shuns them. Imagine what you could do for people like them if you were able to finish what you started over seventy years ago. Do it for them. Do it for the Greater Good!"

Grindelwald raised his eyes to meet Harry's, his face serious. " _Ich verstehe_...I think I am beginning to see what Albus meant." He sighed. "I see much of myself in you, Mr. Potter. Whether that is a good thing or not, only time will tell. All right," he breathed. "I will do it. For the Greater Good, I will do it." He stood. "I do hope that none of you are weak in the stomach, for there are sure to be failures." The others shook their heads. They were killers, and had been for a long time. Not much turned their stomachs anymore. "We will not be able to gather volunteers like before, I am afraid. This means that we shall have to resort to much more...villainous means."

Regulus nodded, looking unperturbed. "Whatever you need, I will get it."

Grindelwald smiled a smile that would have sent shivers down the spines of the most hardened men. "I need bodies. Lots of bodies."

 **XXXX**

Harry tilted his head as another scream echoed up from the lower section of the Tower. It had been almost two years since he and the others had taken up residence in Nurmengard and while the research was slow-going at first as Grindelwald re-familiarized himself with both the theory and the practice of isolating and activating a genetic marker within the DNA of a person. They had lost several subjects to the process over that time, but each time they lasted longer and longer before dying.

Grindelwald felt that they were close now; very close. A few months, maybe another year at the most.

Outside the walls of Nurmengard, life carried on like usual. The tension in Bulgaria was still poised to go off like a powder keg, with the Ministry barely managing to maintain a fragile peace as relations with the rebel faction known as _Sinovete na Nezavisimost_ , or the Sons of Independence, led by former Death Eater turned political activist Igor Karkaroff and publicly supported by former international Quidditch Star Viktor Krum, whose father founded the group several years back, before being put to death by the ICW for 'treason' after winning the position of Minister in Bulgaria. There had been several small skirmishes and more than a few riots, but war had yet to break out yet. Harry wondered how long that would last.

Beyond that, nothing much had changed. Which was a good thing in the sense that Harry was not ready to make his reappearance in the world of the living. He wanted to, just so he could go home and see his son and Hermione again. He missed them something fierce but he knew that until this whole thing was put to bed he could not return to English soil.

He had been training hard during those two years. He was back to where he had been before he was locked up, physically and in terms of magical strength, to the point he hardly needed his wand anymore. He had adopted a fresh look, so that when he made his return, there would be no mistaking who he was. His beard was gone, his hair was long and to his shoulders, as it had been when he had last been seen before his capture. Gellert said it reminded him of himself at that age, which Harry took as a roundabout way of giving praise to his appearance.

Barty, likewise, was back to his old strength, and while he had yet to go back to his old look of suits and waistcoats, he was sporting a new look as well. He now dressed in dark pants of muggle make that were loose-fitting enough to allow freedom of movement but close-fitting enough to not be cumbersome, black boots, a simple black long-sleeved shirt and a long black leather coat. His hair was not as neat and a bit longer than he used to keep it, but not by much. He didn't shave as diligently but still did so every other day or so.

Both had recovered well from Azkaban, but every now and then Harry saw the madness still lingering in the depths of Barty's eyes, and sometimes it appeared in the form of a sinister smile during combat training. Harry was sure that the same happened to him as well; sometimes he would just feel the urge to go a little further when fighting, but he was able to reign it in rather well.

So far, Gellert had had him dueling mostly against Regulus and Barty, and the blasted Elder Wand had changed hands more times that even it could keep track of – or so Barty exclaimed after losing it to Harry for the third time within a single day – and it currently was back in the possession of Grindelwald himself, who had won it off of Regulus just the day before. By tomorrow, who knew which of them would be the master of it again. No doubt it would take all three brothers to overwhelm the most powerful wizard alive.

Harry was determined to win it back. Not because he really wanted it, but because that was the ultimate goal in training. By the time they had to leave, Gellert had said that Harry needed to be able to win the Wand and not lose it to any of them in single or group combat.

That was why he was where he was now, sitting with his chest to the back of a chair, his shirt removed and his eyes closed. Behind him, sat a man in his thirties with long light brown hair, a thick beard and tattoos all over his body and face.

Marcus Scarrs the Younger was focused on his work, the needle moving across Harry's back and shoulders, jabbing into his flesh every second. It had been painful at first, but over time he had grown numb to the pain as his magic mingled with the ink. Runes covered his arms and chest – along with the Thurisaz scar above his heart, which he had gained from the ritual to restore his arm four years ago – and now most of his back was covered by a tree made entirely of runes. Runes for strength, speed, vitality, clarity, endurance and stamina, boosted magical prowess.

Half of the work had been done by Marcus the Elder, but the old man had died just a few weeks prior and the work was left unfinished. Marcus the Younger saw it as his duty as a son to finish the work his father had started. At least, Harry thought, the old man had gotten his wish to tattoo him before he had died. He had expressed that desire when Harry had visited him in his shop in Knockturn Alley to get his Dark Mark removed, which ended up resulting him Harry losing the entire arm rather than just the Mark.

Both Marcus the Elder and Younger, as well as Wekesa, the African-born third member of their little parlour, were sworn to silence about Harry and the others. As far as anyone knew, they had been on vacation. Wekesa was now back at the shop, covering it while Marcus the Younger was gone, after it was apparent that his skills were not needed in Nurmengard and better put to use on their regular customers.

Harry flinched as the needle jabbed a particularly tender spot and his eyes opened.

"Almost finished," Marcus said, feeling the flinch under his hands as he worked. "Just one last Uruz and you are all done."

Harry nodded, cracking his neck to get out the stiffness from sitting in the same position for so long. They had been at it for four hours straight already that day, as they had done every day for the past week to get the inking process finished. Over the next few days, his magic would imbue the runes with power and in turn they would give him their power. They like focusing points for his magic. He wouldn't be super-humanly fast or strong, but his reflexes would be better, he would move faster, hit harder and last longer – in every sense of the phrase. All in all, it wasn't enough to make him a total powerhouse, but enough to give him an edge in a fight.

"All done," Marcus said, waving his wand over the last rune to heal it and make the ink settle.

Harry stood up and stretched, feeling his magic dance across his back. He turned to Marcus and held out his hand for the other man to shake. "Thank you, Marcus. You do fine work." He didn't need a mirror to know that, he had seen some of the back work the day before and it was top-tier.

Marcus nodded and shook his hand. "Thanks. I just wish the Old Man had been here to see it all completed."

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll show him when I see him on the other side."

Marcus smirked sadly. "I really wish I could share your easy acceptance and optimism about Death, Harry. I really do."

Harry shrugged. "I've been dead, Marcus. Trust me when I say it is nothing to be afraid of." He clapped the bigger man on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you out. No doubt you want to get back to England."

Marcus nodded and began packing up his needles and ink. "Aye. It's been a long week. Interesting and not at all bad, but still long. I think I'm starting to miss the casual tedium of running the shop. On top of that, my wife is with child. Soon, there'll be another Marcus Scarrs to carry on the legacy."

Harry smiled as he walked down the stairs to the ground floor, passing the room where Gellert was currently working on his experiments. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," Marcus nodded. "Well, it was good seeing you again, Harry. I know I said it when I first came here, but it's good to know that you aren't dead. Hopefully, it won't be too long before I see you back in Knockturn."

With that, he apparated away, leaving Harry standing outside the Tower as a cool breeze blew by, feeling good on his bare skin.

"One can only hope so," Harry mumbled to himself as he turned to walk back into the Tower.

He climbed up a few levels and pushed open a door, the one through which he had heard the screaming earlier. He stepped inside and frowned.

In the center of the room Grindelwald stood with Regulus and Barty. The three of them were looking down at the blackened form of what was once a living person.

"The rate of combustion was much slower than before," Regulus said, looking at a chart in his hand. "A full five minutes longer than the last time. We're getting closer."

Barty smirked and scoffed. "Not that that was a good thing for this bastard," he said, nudging the burnt corpse with a grimace.

Grindelwald's face was a blank slate, showing no outward reaction. "What does that matter? He was a murderer and a rapist. Even if it had worked, I would have still thrown him from the cliffs once my research was complete. He deserved nothing less." He looked up at Regulus. "How long before we can get a fresh specimen?"

Regulus consulted another part of his chart. "I have a meeting in Minsk in two days. They've got a few men lined up for death that my contact there has been able to procure for me."

Grindelwald nodded. "Good, good. We're getting closer, on the edge of a breakthrough, I can feel it." He turned to Harry, his eyes roving over the various runes and knotwork on his body. "You are all finished then?"

Harry nodded. "All done. How are things here?"

Grindelwald looked at the still-smoking body as if it should be obvious. "Things...did not go well on our end."

Barty grinned behind them and nudged the body again. "Yeah, and I've got this _burning_ feeling that things didn't go so well on this bloke's end either."

Harry raised a brow while Regulus groaned and rubbed his eye. "I really wish that his sense of humor had been something he left behind in Azkaban," the eldest brother mumbled with a sigh.

Barty rolled his eyes. "Everyone's a critic. Well, I'm gonna mosey on out of here. This audience is looking a bit _dead_."

Regulus groaned again and Harry shook his head as Barty casually strode out of the door and down the hall toward the stairs leading upward, further into the Tower.

 **XXXX**

Harry looked down at the Elder Wand in his hand, then up at the three men standing about the open, empty room, facing him.

Another two years had passed and Harry was finally at the level where he could face off against Barty and Regulus and put up a good fight. He had been 'king of the Tower', as Barty put it, for a solid month now, winning the past four bouts against the other two brothers. This time, Grindelwald was joining the fight, to truly test how far Harry had come.

During those two years, Gellert had managed to perfect his research and even developed a process that worked on older subjects. He had taught the process to all of them, so that if he died before he got the chance to actually use it the knowledge wouldn't die with him. Harry planned to use it on Hermione's parents as soon as this whole mess was behind them, if they wanted him to, that is.

"You ready, Harry?" Regulus asked, snapping Harry out of his thoughts, drawing his own wand and getting into a stance.

"Just so you know," Barty said before Harry could reply. "The chances of you actually winning this fight are drastically lower than last time. Now, I don't mean to be discouraging, but I, as your big brother, will not think any less of you if want to, say, give up now and surrender the Elder Wand back into my capable hands. How about that?"

Harry chuckled. "Not on your life, Barty."

Barty shrugged. "Ah, well, it was worth a shot. Don't say you weren't warned. Prepare yourself, then!" He brandished his wand. "Liberty or Death!"

Harry raised his brow and Regulus mirrored the motion.

Barty didn't seem to notice and simply settled into his fighting stance.

Harry opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the sudden appearance of a blazing red light that shot forth at him from the direction of the third member of his opponents. He ducked his head away from it and fired back with a cutting curse, which Grindelwald simply batted away before firing one of his own back.

Harry blocked this attack while dodging a curse from Barty and parrying one from Regulus.

The three peppered him with a volley of curses, all of which he either dodged, blocked or parried, not getting a chance to fire back.

Harry did his best to stay where he was, not allowing himself to be pushed back into a corner. If such a thing were to happen it would be the end of him as he would then have nowhere to go and the others could take turns bombarding him until he either made a mistake or ran out of steam.

As for Barty, Gellert and Regulus, they fanned out, with Regulus and Gellert moving to the flanks and Barty facing him straight on.

All spells cast were silent, making it more difficult to judge whether to dodge or block the attacks. Some spells were merely slowed by a shield and not blocked completely. However, having spent so much time dueling them all one on one and in groups, he had gotten pretty good at recognizing spells based on their light or shape.

Stunners were a simple red light that rendered one unconscious, cutting curses were a thin blade of white sharp enough to slice through a body if fired with enough power, Killing Curses were sickly green, Cruciatus Curses were actually clear – and Gellert was horrifyingly efficient at them, as Harry had found out after being on the receiving end of one from him – the _Alarte Ascendere_ spell was a light gold spark that sent the target flying straight up into the air, the arrow-shooting spell was obviously an arrow – Barty had become quite fond of the spell of late – the blasting curse was clear, C _arpe Retractum_ took the form of a red-colored rope, _Confringo_ was a ball of flame that exploded on impact, _Deprimo_ was a pale blue and slammed the target into the ground hard enough to fracture bones, _Everte Statum_ was a flash of white light that would send one flying backward through the air, _Expelliarmus_ was a spark of white-gold that knocked one's wand from their hand, _Expulso_ was clear and created a pressure-based explosion, _Flipendo –_ the knockback jinx – was blue and pushed the target backward, _Immobulus_ was a shimmer of blue that render one immobile – similar to the body-bind, which caused one to stiffen as if bound by invisible ropes, except that the target could not move at all, even to fall down – _Incarcerous_ took the form of ropes, _Reducto_ was a bolt of blue light that was capable of disintegrating an object or breaking it, the Scorching Spell was a ball of flames and the _Sectumsempra_ curse was a series of pale magic blades that sliced into the enemy and was notoriously difficult to counter or heal the wounds from – only Harry used this spell, the others not knowing it.

There were a few schoolyard jinxes and hexes thrown in from time to time, but that was an approach mostly utilized by Barty who liked to throw them out randomly to keep whoever he was fighting on their toes.

Harry blocked one such spell, a leg-locker curse, which he managed to redirected back at Barty, whose legs were suddenly glued together; given that he had taken a wide stance, this was enough to take him to the floor. He went down laughing. Seeing an opening, Harry fired a stunner at Barty, who managed to roll out of the way, then deflected an _Expulso_ from Gellert, which exploded against the wall, showering them with rubble and dust.

During this time, Barty had been able to cast the counter-curse on himself and was back on his feet, pressing the attack once-more.

Harry threw out a series of rapid fire cutting curses at Gellert, who swirled his wand in a circle in front of him, making the spells arch around him to hit harmlessly against the wall behind him. This was an example of Grindelwald using his magic to do things that no spell could do. He merely thought about what he wanted to happen and his magic did it. It worked most of the time.

A fluttering sound was heard and Harry felt a small flare of pain from his ear. He didn't have to look to see that Barty had just barely missed him with a magically fired arrow. Another was hot on the tail of the first and Harry had to duck to avoid it. He fired a knockback jinx at Barty's legs, knocking them from beneath him, making him fall forward onto the ground.

Regulus, who had been hanging back and peppering Harry with minor curses to keep him on his guard, suddenly threw out a blasting curse, which managed to send Harry sailing into the wall, the Elder Wand falling from his hand. Before Regulus could capitalize and stun him, Harry threw a wandless _Expelliarmus_ at Regulus, disarming him and returning his mastery of the Elder Wand, which he then plucked back up from the ground.

The rules were simple. Whoever was the master of the Elder Wand was the target. If the master was disarmed or rendered unconscious, whoever had fired the spell took up the wand and the fight continued until only one fighter was standing, and that was the owner of the Elder Wand. Since Regulus had not managed to knock Harry unconscious, Harry was still in the fight and since Harry had disarmed Regulus, the Wand went back to him, thus he was still the target.

Before Harry could get back to his feet, he felt his stomach drop as he was suddenly thrown straight up in the air. His back struck the ceiling hard and he came back down with equal force.

He groaned and rolled away from where he had landed just before the spot of impacted by three different spells. He had managed to retain his hold on the Elder Wand, but it had been a close thing. Were it not for the magic Runes tattooed on his body, he had no doubt that he would be unconscious now, with several broken bones. As it was, he was in a lot of pain.

He scrambled back to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain wracking his body, and raised a shield to block the oncoming assault by Barty and Regulus. Grindelwald, he could see, was hanging back, moving behind Barty toward Regulus' side of the room.

Harry dove and rolled to avoid the next attack from his brothers and fired off a cutting curse that caught Regulus in the leg, making him drop to one knee. He tried to take advantage of this by bombarding Regulus with a flurry of spells but Grindelwald stepped in and batted the spells into the ground, countering with a flurry of his own. What made it worse was the knowledge that the old wizard was holding back. He literally could have downed all of them with a single wave of his wand but in the spirit of fair play and training purposes, he didn't use such grand displays of his magic. Harry knew a few of them, and he had taught the old man the Dread Curse that he had used to bring the entire Order of the Phoenix and several Death Eaters to their knees in terror. It was a fair trade.

Harry managed to block them all but there was no room for him to counter-attack as Regulus followed it up with one of his own. Barty joined in afterward and the three fell into a cycle of attack that gave Harry no openings.

He was breathing heavy now, and his heart was hammering away in his chest. He needed to end this or else he'd be overwhelmed in minutes.

He growled and threw himself sideways as Regulus began his attack, the slew of spells passing him by harmlessly, and he raised his wand, firing a single stunner. The jet of red struck Regulus in the chest as the last of his own spells left his wand, sending him to the ground in a heap. He was out of the fight.

Seeing one of them go down, Grindelwald and Barty separated, going in opposing directions. Harry moved toward Grindelwald, who was noticeably slowing. He may have been powerful and fast still for his age, but he didn't have the energy reserves that the others had.

Harry got in close, making sure to guard his back against Barty, and tried to stun the old man. Alas, Grindelwald was still quite the skilled duelist and parried the attack, which sailed back at Harry at lightning speed. Harry barely managed to move out of the way as the jet of light flew passed him and struck dangerously close to Barty, who yelped out an indignant "oi!" and threw a scowl at them, which was drastically less effective than his spells.

Harry danced out of the way as Grindelwald went on the offensive, several balls of fire spewing forth from his wand. They exploded against the walls and floor, leaving the acrid scent of smoke behind.

One of the things that made these fights so difficult and intense was the lack of any cover. There were no chairs, no tables, nothing to hide behind, so one had to rely on their own speed and skill to keep them in the fight as opposed to being able to duck behind something and engage in a pitched battle. In a pitched battle it was all about timing and luck, which Harry didn't really believe in, not much involving skill, whereas an open battle like this removed that element from the playing field and instead forced the combatants to employ their full spectrum of skills, from footwork to timing, to planning. It was a chess game, essentially. A chess game in which all of the pieces were combined into four men in an ever-shifting combination.

It was at this point in the fight that Harry began to think strategically.

With an opponent on either side of him, they had to careful lest he dodge and they hit their ally instead. On the other hand, Harry had to be careful not to lose sight of either of them. He fired a curse at Grindelwald, who dodged to the side, a second curse followed only for Grindelwald to dodge to the opposite side, a third curse saw him go back the other way. He ducked under a spell from Barty and fired a fourth spell at Grindelwald, who, true to Harry's deduction, dodged back to way he had before and right into the path of Harry's stunner, which caught him full in the stomach. He had just a moment to look disappointed in himself before he crumpled to the floor unconscious. OK, maybe Harry would consider possibility of this thing they called 'luck', because he hadn't expected that to actually work. Or maybe Gellert, like the rest of them, was still human and made mistakes from time to time. Harry was banking on the latter, rather than some cheap, imaginary notion like luck.

Harry rolled out of the way of a curse from Barty and stood back to his feet to face his brother and final opponent.

"Well, well," Barty laughed. "Looky, looky, here. Isn't this all too familiar. Me against you, again!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Barty, we fight each other all the time, it's not like this is something we've been building towards. Though, you didn't last as long last time. As I remember it, you were the first to go down last week, not Regulus."

Barty grumbled something under his breath that sounded like "No flare for drama, this one," before firing off a spell, hoping to catch Harry off guard. Harry dodged the blue light and his Barty with a _Deprimo_ , which slammed Barty straight down to the floor. He had little chance to admire his work because he was suddenly sailing through the air for a second time. Luckily, he didn't hit the ceiling again and managed to slow his fall so that he only had the wind knocked out of him this time.

He rolled to the side as Barty fired three back-to-back stunners, each one barely missing him.

 _Carpe Retractum_ , Harry thought, pointing his wand at Barty's legs. A red rope of magic lanced out and wrapped around Barty's ankles. Barty looked down and groaned, "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," before his legs were yanked out from under him and he fell hard to the ground. Harry flicked his wand up and to the side and Barty was now the one sailing through the air, though not directly up, more in a high arch. Somehow, Barty had the presence of mind to fire a stunner while upside down and cartwheeling toward the floor. It went a bit wide but still, it was impressive. What was even more so was that he had a chance to say "oh, bollocks" before hitting the floor.

Harry advanced on Barty as he landed, taking advantage of his momentarily stunned state – not magically stunned, just plain old regular stunned – to hit him with a disarming jinx. Barty's wand flew away from him to clatter onto the floor. A stunner followed, which Barty barely managed to avoid. He was able to wandlessly bat the second stunner away but the third caught him in the shoulder, sending him to the floor unconscious.

Harry was breathing fast and heavy now, knees bent and his hands resting on them, head hung low, his hair hanging limp and damp with sweat. His shirt was clinging to his body uncomfortably and his arms felt heavy from all of the movement they had been undergoing.

He laughed, seeing all three of his opponents down on the floor, beaten. He had never fought all three of them at once before, so he was high with elation at his victory.

Without a sound an Elf appeared before him and bowed.

"Oh," Harry panted, " _Hallo, Hannes, was_ _ist los?_ "

" _Herr Harry Potter, es ist ein Mann hier, der Sie sehen m_ _öchte_ _._ "

Harry cocked his head. " _Wer ist er?_ "

The little Elf shrugged and shook his head. " _Ich wei_ _ß es nicht_."

Harry frowned and stood up straight. " _Danke, Hannes. Ich werde in einer Minute da sein. Du kannst gehen._ "

The little Elf bowed again and vanished without a sound.

Harry took several deep, slow breaths to calm his heart and clear his head before stumbling over to Barty and bringing him back to consciousness. While Barty groaned and muttered curses under his breath, Harry went about reviving Regulus and Gellert as well.

Grindelwald climbed slowly back to his feet, grumbling about how he wasn't as young as he used to be. He looked at Harry, who still held the Elder Wand and nodded. "You did well, but not good enough." Harry didn't protest, knowing that there was a reason for his words. "Regulus was able to disarm you. You managed to do the same right back but still. You need to keep training until you can take us all on without losing the Wand once. You've beaten the two of them," he pointed at a stretching Regulus and a still-on-the-ground Barty, "flawlessly three times, and you almost managed it against us all this time, but you aren't quite there yet." He sighed as Harry nodded. "Still," he went on, "where you are now, you could have gone toe-to-toe with Albus and I in our prime and held your own. You might not have been able to win as easily but you would have done well, I think."

Harry nodded. He didn't agree, given that Grindelwald had been holding back during this fight, but he was too tired to argue, and too curious about what Hannes had just told him. Now that that was done, he could tell them that there was someone in the Tower. "Hannes came to me while you were all unconscious. There's someone here."

The atmosphere in the room became tense. No one could enter the Tower unless the Elves let them in. Whoever was down there was not expected and thus would be made to wait outside until it was decided whether or not to allow them in.

Grindelwald closed his eyes for a moment. Harry didn't know how he did it, and the old man wouldn't explain it to him, but Grindelwald seemed to have a way that he could see the area around the Tower through magic. "It is a man with red hair in a short ponytail, bearded. Looks to be in his forties, maybe."

Harry looked at Regulus. "Sounds like Malcolm."

Regulus nodded and looked at Grindelwald. "If it is him, he is a friend. If it is not, we can always kill him."

Grindelwald smiled with his eyes still closed. " _Lass ihn herein_." He opened his eyes. "Come, let us greet our guest."

He led the way, Harry and Regulus right behind him. Barty dragged himself to his feet with a groan and picked up his wand before jogging after them to catch up.

They reached the first landing, the one from Grindelwald had ambushed them from upon their arrival. They looked down and a small sigh of relief escaped from Regulus. Harry wasn't so trusting of appearances. "What were the very first words you spoke to me?"

Malcolm looked up at them, his eyes still not fully adjusted to the lighting in the Tower, which was much lower and dimmer than outside, especially in the entrance chamber. "I guessed the question you had for me. 'Why I helped you escape?' was the question and my first words to you."

Harry nodded to Grindelwald and they all stepped out onto the stairs. "What brings you here?" Grindelwald asked, since it was his Tower and he was the host.

Malcolm sighed. "The time has come. We're needed in Bulgaria. War has been declared. Our revolution has begun."

"Well, it's about bloody time!" Barty exclaimed. "I was beginning to think they'd never do it. All those riots and fights and no war? Finally!"

Harry let those words settle in his mind, and even as Regulus and Barty started asking questions, he couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face. Finally. _Finally_ , the time had come when he could do what he had been freed to do.

Then, after that, he could finally, _finally_ , go home.

The time had finally come.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. All right. Things are going be heating up soon with Harry and the team going into a war zone. We'll meet Karkaroff and Krum, as well as a few other familiar faces from the books and movies. Things will start to go in a slightly darker direction from here on out, but it won't be all doom and gloom, just more likely to encounter dark situations.**

 **Leave me some feedback on what you think. Did I go too far? Not far enough? Just right? Let me know. I love reading your reviews, they help me tremendously. I've been noticing a lack of them lately. I don't always have time to reply to them, but I do try.  
**

 **Until next time.**


	12. A Scandal In Bulgaria

**Sorry it's a day late. Paddy's Day and all that. I regret nothing.**

 **12\. A Scandal in Bulgaria**

It didn't take long to get all of their things together. Hannes and the other Elves just sort popped away and then reappeared with all of their things in tow. Not that it was very much. Just three rucksacks containing all of their personal belongings.

"We'll need to hurry," Malcolm said to them as they all took up their bags and slung them over their shoulders. "I've got the portkey ready. We'll be dropping into the middle of Sofia's magical market district. Tiberius and Fergus are already there. From what they've told me, there's fighting in the streets already. We have to move quickly."

Without further ado he exited the Tower, briefly nodding to Grindelwald, who nodded back.

Regulus and Barty darted after Malcolm and Harry made to follow but felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back. "Hold a moment, Harry," Grindelwald said.

Harry turned back to face his latest mentor, curiosity flaring up in him.

"I fear that it may be some time before you and I ever see each other again," the old wizard started. "As such, I feel I must say a few things. Over these past few years you have given me something that I have not had in a long time. Hope. Hope for the future generations that shall inherit this world from us old folk. You have helped me complete my work, to achieve the first step of my dream of a world united by magic. Thank you."

Harry smiled at the elder wizard. "I couldn't let such a good cause go to waste. Thank you, for all that you have taught me."

Grindelwald nodded and reached into his pocket. "Before you go, one last thing. This," he held up a ring with a dark stone set into it, "was left in my care years ago, after your arrest, by Regulus. I think it is only fitting that you have it now." He held it out to Harry, who took it in his hand.

"What is it?" Harry asked, feeling a strange sort of power from the stone on the simple silver band.

Grindelwald smiled. "It is the Resurrection Stone. The Hallow of the Second Brother, Cadmus Peverell. With this Stone, one can call forth the spirits of the dead, for a time."

Harry turned the ring in his hand and nodded, noticing the similar feel of the Stone to the Elder Wand. He could also feel a small thrum through both of them, as though they were resonating with each other. He smiled and slipped the ring onto the ring finger of his right hand. "Thank you."

With this, he could bring back to the land of the living any soul that had departed from this world. He could speak to Dumbledore again, to get his advise and just to speak to him again. He missed the simple wisdom and calming presence of his old friend and mentor. What was more, he could see Jimmy again, and apologize for what happened to him...he felt a pang of guilt and sorrow in his heart. He missed his little brother dearly.

Grindelwald seemed to read Harry's thoughts. "Be wary though, my friend. Many a wizard has been driven mad by the power of the Stone. Cadmus himself took his own life because of it. Only use it in times of great need."

Harry sighed, thinking of Jimmy. He knew the danger of such things. As Grindelwald said, the Second Brother had taken his own life after his grief over his lost love drove him to madness. For though the Resurrection Stone could bring the soul back, it could not give it physical form and the soul suffered after a time, not being meant for this world any longer. Most believed that this was Death's punishment for those who defied the nature of the Universe. Life and Death were sacred and to bring the dead back to life was a perversion of that natural order in the same way that a Horcrux was.

Attempts had been made to fully revive the dead throughout history, but no good ever came of it. Death was not in the habit of letting go of what was his to watch over. Whether it was possessiveness or protectiveness, was something that none but Death could know.

He finally nodded to Grindelwald, who gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know the temptation is there, and I am not telling you to not use the Stone. What would be the point of having such a tool if one did not use it? No, by all means use it. I have. Just, do not get lost in it, Harry."

Harry nodded again and held out his hand to Grindelwald, who took it firmly. "We'll meet again, Gellert," Harry said. "Never doubt that. In this world, or the next."

Gellert smirked. "In this world or the next."

Harry left the Tower to find the others waiting for him, a length of rope held between them. "Well, at least it isn't a dog toy this time," Harry quipped as he reached them.

Barty barked out a laugh and Regulus shook his head with amusement. Malcolm just rolled his eyes and motioned for Harry to take hold of the Portkey, which he did. Malcolm whispered something under his breath and Harry felt himself lifted off the ground, the world around him spinning too fast for him to see anything beyond blurred colors. It started off a sort of grey and then lightened as they took to the skies and then a few moments later it darkened into browns and reds.

Harry grunted as they came to a landing. He managed to stay standing, unlike the last few times he had used such means of transportation. He looked around at the others and noticed that no one had fallen this time.

Then he took in their surroundings.

They were in an alleyway, red brick on made up the buildings on either side of them. One end of the Alley was blocked off by a tall wooden structure, like a barricade made of furniture and other random items. The other end opened up into a wide lane, where Harry could see shop fronts and people rushing about in all directions. When he saw several men and women levitating tables and bookshelves into another alley across from them, he knew that the hustle and bustle wasn't because of a sale or any other shopping-based craze.

This was preparation for battle.

Harry felt a tingle of magic and looked up, seeing a ward close in over the area, followed by another a couple of second after.

"Anti-Apparation and Anti-Portkey wards," Malcolm noted. "We arrived just in time. Come on," he started running toward the exit of the alley. "we need to get to the Sleeping Giant."

Harry and the others plunged out into the main street and ran behind Malcolm, who was darting between people, who barely paid any of them any mind. The only attention they got was when a woman and child fell in front of Barty and he paused just long enough to haul the child out of the way of a passing cart, the woman having been able to get out of the way herself, at the same time, Harry dragged a young woman, who had been coming from the opposite direction, out of the way by her arm. He glanced to make sure she was fine before moving on without a thought. Barty ruffled the boys hair and said something to him before rushing to catch up with them, leaving the woman looking after them shouting her thanks, a little boy who was looking both scared and relieved and a young woman who looked somewhat flustered.

"This place is in chaos," Barty shouted over the din.

Harry scoffed. "They're Ministry just declared war on its own citizens, what did you expect? Flowers in the streets to greet the invading army?"

"Why not? It worked for the Germans in Poland, Ukraine and Lithuania," Barty pointed out. "Then again, that was a whole other situation. Point taken. Still, you'd think some of the populace would be happy about the Ministry forces attacking the rebels."

Malcolm called back at them. "There are. They're on the other side of these barricades. Now, hurry up, we're almost there." He pointed to a building a few blocks away with a large sign bearing an image like a cyclops that laying against a mountain, sleeping, or possibly dead.

Harry wasn't familiar with Bulgarian as a language, but its alphabet, the Cyrillic Script, was known to him. He could read it but not understand it. Ϲпален Исполини Кръчма – Spalen Ispolini Krachma. Whether that meant Sleeping Giant, or something or other was anyone's guess. He just went with what Malcolm said. For all he knew it could mean the Prancing Pony or Dead Cyclops or something – if the picture on the sign was anything to go by, he was banking on the latter of those two being more likely.

They reached the building easily enough and went inside, Malcolm ushering them in as he stood by the door. Once they were all in, he closed the door and locked it behind him, effectively shutting them off from the chaos outside.

Harry's eyes adjusted quickly thanks to the small enhancements made to his senses by the scratch he had received from Lupin in werewolf form back when he was undercover as a professor at Hogwarts. He still had the scars from that fight along his ribs, though they were long-healed and faded somewhat.

He had many scars littering his body, all of them received in some violent manner. Even the Rune on his chest had been carved there, by his own hand no less.

He could see a small group of people standing and sitting around a table at the back of the room. He could see the large form of Tiberius, and hear his powerful voice.

"I am tellin' you that we cannot defend this place for longer than a day at best," the big man was saying to a man with long graying black hair and a long goatee. Harry recognized him instantly as Igor Karkaroff, former Death Eater and now leader of the Sons of Independence.

"Where would you have us go then?" Karkaroff growled back. "Would you have us cower in the sewers like rats or hide in the hills like savages?"

"It's better than staying here and gettin' killed like a dog in the street or pig in a trap," Tiberius said back.

"Gentlemen," a smooth Irish voice cut through the room, "I do believe we have guests. Please try to appear respectable, if only for a moment."

The others turned at Fergus' words and saw Malcolm and the others heading their way.

"Ah, Malcolm! Harry! Barty! Regulus! So good o' you all to join us. Here have a drink," Tiberius called out, coming from around the table and moving to the bar to pour whiskey into four glasses.

He handed them out to each of them.

"There now, drink up, it's on the house," he said, moving back to the table where the others were waiting. Harry and the others downed their drinks and set the empty glasses on the bar before following after the big man.

Harry met Karkaroff's eye as he walked. The man was studying him carefully, stroking his beard as he did so.

"Igor, long time no see!" Barty said, cutting through the tension that Harry hadn't realized was there. "How have you been, mate?"

Igor smiled at Barty and pulled him in for a hug. "It has indeed been a long time, my friend. I feared the worst when they said you were dead. I was glad to hear that this was not so."

Barty laughed and shrugged. "Well, what can I say? Can't nobody kill me but me!"

Igor laughed heartily. "We shall see about that, my friend. We are at war again, now. Anything could happen." Barty waved that off with a scoff while Igor turned to Harry. "Hello, young Harry," he greeted, holding out a hand.

Harry nodded and shook his hand firmly. "It is good to see that some of the Old Guard made it through the war," he said. "I hear it was quite a bloodbath there at the end. A lot of Death Eaters died that day."

Karkaroff grinned. "Yes, so I heard. I wasn't there, I wouldn't know. But, I hear you did many terrible things while I was gone. Bellatrix, Selwyn, Gibbon, MacNair, Nott, Rookwood, Shunpike, Yaxley, Mulciber, Dolohov, Avery, Narcissa, the Carrows, Rabastan, Rodolphus, Greyback, Severus and the Dark Lord himself. You killed them, did you not?" Harry nodded, not ashamed of what he had done. Karkaroff smiled again. "It is a pity that many escaped your wrath. Jugson, Rowle, Lucius and Draco, Travers, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, they are in Azkaban...and the rat, Pettigrew still roams free."

Harry nodded. "I'll take care of them as soon as I am able. Pettigrew will die, and the others, will either join us or join him, or die."

Karkaroff clapped Harry on the shoulder. "It is good to fight alongside the God of Death once more. Come, let us rejoin the others. We have much planning to do."

"The Alley is indefensible," Tiberius said as they all gathered back around the table, where Harry could see several maps of the area laid out. "On top of that, there are too many civilians runnin' about an' we can' spare the time or manpower to protect them. We need to evacuate all non-combatants at once." He turned to a man next to him that Harry didn't recognize. He was tall and thin with long brown hair with a single stripe of red down one side. He had distinctly wolfish look to him, and was dressed in dark plaid trousers and a leather coat with a red band around one arm. He noticed that Igor and a tall muscular young man whom Harry assumed to be Krum, were also wearing one of these, but theirs bore the image of a golden lion, the same found on the National Coat of Arms of Bulgaria. It must have been to mark them as members of the rebellion. "Scabior, I want you out there coordinating an evacuation. If you see any Ministry forces, run back here and let us know. Get as many out as you can."

The man, Scabior, nodded his head. "I'll get on that right now. Where should I send them?" He had an accent similar to Tiberius', London, possibly Cockney.

Krum spoke up. "There is a _Vila_ here on the other side of Vitosha," he said, pointing to a spot on the map. "My father maintained it. It has much land and many rooms. Ve can send them there."

Scabior wrote down the coordinates and stuffed the paper into his pocket. He was out the door before anyone had the chance to say anything. A flick of a wand from Krum saw the door locked again.

"Now," Malcolm spoke up. "Is there anywhere where we can set up a base of operations for ourselves outside the city? We cannot stay here. That much alone is clear. We cannot put the people in danger by going where they are either."

"Ve cannot leave them undefended either," Krum said. "The _Vila_ is set against the mountain. It is old and fortified. It has walls and gates. It vas built by _Rimlyanite_."

Malcolm looked to Karkaroff for translation.

"The Romans," Igor provided. "The villa was built by the Romans in the second century BCE."

"A Roman Villa," Malcolm mused. He looked at Tiberius and Fergus. "What do you think?"

Tiberius crossed his arms, one hand coming up to stroke his beard. "It could work, I think," he said. "With any luck, we can fortify it for long-term use. If not, it will at least serve as a temporary location while we search for something better."

"With any luck," Harry cut in, "our enemies will never find the place to begin with." He had stayed in London, right under the Ministry's nose for months during the last war, and before that he was at Malfoy Manor, which was raided by the Ministry several times over the course of the years he had been there. The secret was hiding right where they least expected you. Right in front of them. "When in a war like this, we must keep in the offensive as much as possible, so that the enemy has to focus on keeping _us_ out, not the other way around."

"The man makes a point," Barty said, stretching his arms over his head with a sigh. "That's how we did things as Death Eaters. We were the aggressors, we were Hannibal at the gates. The Ministry couldn't focus on finding us when they were too busy trying to clean up after us and scramble their forces to fight our gorilla tactics. It was a literal blitzkrieg We didn't just power through our enemy, we struck hard and fast and then vanished without a trace, and never hit the same place twice in a row. Left the Ministry in chaos for days or even weeks after each attack. Think of it like the Colonial Militias during the American War for Independence. The Regulars were helpless against them because they didn't fight like regular soldiers. Like we did to those Raiders in Romania a few years ago."

Regulus nodded. "Such a tactic could work here. The Aurors are trained to fight in a very organized manner here from what I understand," he said. "If we use hit-and-run and other blitz attacks against them, we can reduce their efficiency severely. Ambush them where we can, and draw them into the killing field whenever possible. Avoid facing them in open battle for the most part. It seems cowardly, but it is effective. Fergus, this is more your style of engagement, any suggestions?"

Fergus nodded. "First things first, when we get ready to fight, no wards that prevent apparation are to be in place. There is a tactic we Irish wizards liked to use. It dates back to the Roman Era as well. While they never actually tried to conquer the Island they did land there a few times. Anyway, the tactic is one we call _Lonnb_ _é_ _imnech_. It means 'Fierce Striker' or 'Lightning-flash', depending on who you ask. It is taken from a name for the god Lugh, who is sometimes portrayed a trickster. Essentially, what you do is apparate among a group of enemies, strike, apparate to another spot, strike, and repeat like that until all of the enemy are dead or they flee. It can be tiring and it takes quick thought and reflexes. A skilled group of fighters using this style can level an army if they have the stamina to do so. If we remove that ward, I can use this tactic to confuse and disrupt the enemy while you all pick them off from a distance. In a situation like that, where it is just one man down with the enemy, I will apparate around them, not among them, to avoid getting hit by friendly spellfire." He looked over the map. "Another name for it is _Li_ _ú_ _s Sc_ _á_ _th_ , the Pike Shadow, named after a particularly aggressive fish that ambushes its prey. It's even been known to eat birds and other pike. They are quite vicious when they want to be."

Barty rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks for the history lesson, but is something like that going to work here?"

Fergus looked at Barty blandly. "Well, if you'd give me a moment, and shut the hell up, I was getting to that part." Barty raised a brow at the man and then shrugged with a 'get on with it' expression. Fergus frowned and sighed. "Now, as I was saying, here in this little stretch of street we've been given to work with, we have a decent set-up for an ambush. We can line our fighters up on the rooftops here," he tapped a small stretch of map, "and here. I, and a few others will hit them from street level. After the first attack, I'll begin the Lighting Flash, and those others on the ground will join the others above. From there, it is just a matter of laying down fire upon them until they are all dead or they run away. However, after this battle, we won't be able to get away with such a tactic again in this area. They'll expect it and work out ways to counter it. That is why, once the attack is done, I suggest we all regroup at this villa Viktor told us about."

Tiberius and Malcolm shared a look and nodded. "Everyone in favor?"

Harry raised his hand. It was a good plan. He liked the way this man, Fergus, thought. Regulus raised his hand as well, then Igor and Krum followed suit. Harry and the others all looked at Barty, who had his arms crossed and was looking at the ceiling. He felt the eyes on him and looked around at them. "What?"

"Yea or nay on Fergus' plan," Harry said, giving him a look that said 'I know you were listening, quit being an arse'.

Barty scowled and groaned but raised his hand too. "Yay, er, yea."

"We're all in agreement then," Malcolm said. "Fergus, find Scabior and the others, get them into position. I want every group to have a portkey, in case this goes south. If I signal a retreat, I want everyone to get out posthaste."

"Vhat's the signal?" Krum asked.

"Red sparks is a retreat. Green sparks means attack. White sparks means hold-fire. Blue means you need assistance. Everyone got that?" Malcolm waited for them all to nod before he leaned back from the table. "Now, Barty, Harry, I want you to go with Viktor. He has a few items for you two. After that, meet us outside."

Harry raised a brow at Barty, who shrugged, and then turned to Viktor. "Lead the way."

Krum motioned for them to follow him. He lead them to a door at the back of the pub, which opened to a staircase leading down into a basement. He waved a hand and the room was suddenly filled with the light of a dozen torches.

Harry's eyes immediately fell upon two figures at the other end of the room. Or at least they looked like figures, except that they were unmoving. It took a second for him to realize that he was looking at to mannequins wearing full-body battle robes and masks. The robes came down to the knee and appeared to be made of some sort of black dragon hide. There were also fingerless gloves made of the same material.

What really caught Harry's attention though was the masks. They were their masks. Their personal Death Eaters masks from Malfoy Manor. Harry thought his was among his personal belongings, which were probably in Hermione's possession at this point. How had it gotten here?

"The Masks were given to us by Tiberius, who says Regulus gave them to him," Viktor said, seemingly knowing what Harry was thinking. "The robes are custom, made from Horntail hide. They are resistant to most common spells, like the Stunner and Cutting Curse. Though, if you got hit enough times, a Cutting Curse might be able to get through. Beyond that, they can reduce the damage from other spells but they von't stop a Killing Curse or anything like that. Given that this is a var, expect the enemy to use them on you."

Harry nodded. That had been one of the downfalls of the British Ministry. They didn't allow their Aurors to use the Killing Curse. The Anti-Death Eater Task Force had though. Harry knew that if he wanted to go back to England after this, he'd have to be prepared to face those men again.

"Thank you, Mr. Krum," Harry said. Barty was already running his hand over the robes and his Mask.

Viktor nodded. "I vill be upstairs, vaiting."

With that he went back the way they had come.

Harry went over to his own set of robes. "I guess they want us to make an impression, no?" He had noticed that Krum and Karkaroff were wearing what appeared to be custom robes as well, but Malcolm and the others were not.

Barty laughed. "That's what it looks like. Ready for your grand return, little brother? The God of Death and the Hangman, back in black!"

Harry rolled his eyes as Barty grinned. He picked up his mask and ran his fingers over the flat, blackened wood and the bone inlays beneath the eyes. It had been so long since he donned this mask. Now, it seemed like a whole other lifetime, but he felt something else in him aside from the nostalgia. It was a longing. A longing to be that hooded, masked terror again.

With that in mind, he tied his hair back and pulled the robes on over his black shirt and trousers, securing it over his chest and abdomen with buckles and straps. He then pulled on the gloves and finally the mask. It fit just as he remembered it, snug but not uncomfortable. He smiled behind the wood and bone, knowing that no one could see it. He then flipped the hood of the robe over his head, completing the image. He looked over to see that Barty had done the same.

He had always known that the masks made them look quite imposing, but the new robes just enhanced the image in Harry's eyes.

"This brings back memories," Barty's voice said jovially.

Harry shook his head. "Don't speak, Barty, it ruins your image."

Barty laughed as they made their way back up the stairs. "In all seriousness though, I don't know about wearing these every time we fight. It looks cool and all that, but it can be a bit cumbersome, you know?"

Harry nodded. He found fighting without the mask to be much easier. The mask limited his field of vision on the sides and that was dangerous in the heat of battle. But, for something like this, it had its uses. It was another shock tactic, just like when he had impaled those raiders on spears for their comrades to see.

They met Krum at the top of the stairs and he lead them out of the pub and into the street.

The situation outside was vastly different from what it had been when they arrived. Where before there had been chaos with people running in all directions, now it was near barren. What few people remained were either in line to receive a portkey out of the alley or wearing red bands around their arms and dressed for battle. Harry and Barty followed their 'guide' as he started off down the street.

As they walked, Harry could feel the eyes one them. Glancing about, he could see people stop what they were doing to stare at them as they passed by them. What he didn't realize was that the God of Death and the Hangman were well known even this far from England, especially given how much media attention their trials had received. The thing was, they were supposed to be dead.

Now, contrary to what the Ministries and the Ministry-controlled newspapers would like to believe, the common people weren't stupid. That being said, most of those in the alley now, who didn't know that Harry and Barty were, in fact, not dead, just thought that it was some clever little ploy thought up by their leaders to scare the enemy – hell, they even had the height proportions right – and those that knew the truth were feeling awe at seeing those two semi-legendary figures in all of their glory. Either way, both groups were experiencing a significant boost in morale.

Now, what happened next was a bit of a surprise for all involved.

As they were nearing the location where Fergus was standing with the others pointing at various spots in the immediate vicinity and ordering men and women to take up cover at those positions, Harry happened to glance over at the line of refugees being evacuated from the area. He saw the little boy that Barty had saved earlier looking at them with wide eyes. He tugged on his mother's skirt and pointed, asking something in Bulgarian. The mother looked at them and smiled before nodding to her son, who grinned and waved at them, shouting something in his native tongue.

"What did he say?" Harry asked, turning his head to Krum.

Krum looked at the child with a gentle expression. "He says 'Thank you for coming back to help us'. You are dead remember. As far as a child knows, you've come back from the dead to help us fight."

Harry turned back to the boy and nodded at him so that he could see it. The boy smiled widely at being acknowledged.

"Right, Harry, Barty, there you are, lookin' spiffin' if I do say so," Tiberius greeted them happily. "Now, you two," he placed a hand on each of their shoulders, "are going to be the shock value, eh? You stand there in the street and when the Aurors arrive you'll be the first thing they see. Fergus will be right over there in that alleyway waiting for the two o' you to throw the first spells. After that, you get up those ladders there," he pointed to two different ladders on either side of the street that lead up to the rooftops, "and rain down as much hell as you can. Got it?"

Harry nodded. It was a simple enough plan, but one that they could not keep relying on once the news of their return became public knowledge. It would lose it's shock value after that.

"Sir!"

Harry and Tiberius turned as the man from the pub, Scabior, ran up to them.

"Yes, what is it?" Tiberius asked.

"I've just received word from one of our contacts at the Ministry. Oblansk has issued an order for a full Auror strike on the Alley. We have minutes at best," Scabior said seriously, he held up a small roll of parchment as emphasis.

Tiberius took the letter and read it quickly. "Right then, get the rest o' those folks out of here and get everyone else up to the rooftops. Double-time, yeah?"

Scabior nodded and darted off again, relaying Tiberius' orders.

"Well, boys, looks like the shows about to start. Get yourselves in place." With those parting words, Tiberius took off to help get the rest of the fighters still on the ground moving.

"You ready for this, my dear brother?" Barty asked, adjusting his gloves.

Harry nodded, drawing the Elder Wand from within his sleeve. "Brother mine, I was made for this."

He looked at Barty and noticed that he had his fist raised toward him at chest height. Harry looked at Barty with an 'are you serious?' expression, not that Barty could see it through the mask. Barty shook the fist. "Come on."

Harry shook his head and faced forward. "I'm not doing that."

Barty bumped him in the shoulder with the fist. "Come on, mate, its what cool people do."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, if you're twelve."

"Ah, come on. Fist bump. Harry, fist bump. Come on. Fist bump! Fist bump!"

Harry glared and Barty sighed. "Fine." He lowered his arm and crossed his arms.

Harry stood for a moment, doing nothing as the others started to clear the streets completely. Finally, he sighed silently to himself and held out his own fist.

Barty looked at it and bumped with this his own fist. "I knew you'd come around."

"Will you ever grow up?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Eh, probably not," Barty admitted.

A raven's cry split the air and Harry saw the bird land on a rooftop before turning back into Regulus. He saw them looking at him and gave a small wave.

"You know, this is the part I always hated most," Barty said, his voice now serious. "The waiting, you know? Just waiting for the signal to attack. It's tense and uncomfortable. You get that weird tightening in your stomach and it gets all hard to breath. You're heartbeat is all up to eleven and you're like super aware of everything around you. It's intense."

Harry nodded, feeling his own heartbeat speeding up with anticipation for the coming battle. It was similar to when they had killed the Raiders, but more palpable, because they were sensing and unknowingly feeding off of the nervousness and anxiousness of every man and woman in that alleyway with them at that moment. The energy was damn near a physical force around them.

A booming sound filled the air and Harry saw the wards drop in a shimmering wave. They hadn't been broken, they had been taken down by the ones who cast them in the first place. It was all part of the plan. The enemy was here and they'd make their appearance in just moments.

As if to prove Harry's thoughts correct, the barricade at the end of the lane exploded, sending bits of wood and furniture flying in all directions.

When the dust settled, Harry could see a rather sizable group marching through the street toward them. He did a quick sweep with his eyes and estimated there were no less than forty men marching in their direction.

It was almost déjà vu when the man at the front of the column raised his hand and called the Aurors to a halt. He looked at them, then around as if looking for any other combatants. Unfortunately for him they were all too well hidden for him to see them.

Harry tilted his head just enough to see Barty as the Auror started shouting something in Bulgarian, which of course went right over the heads of the two Englishmen. Barty looked back and nodded and the two turned back forward, raised their wands and both said " _Avada Kedavra_!"

Two jets of sickly green light burst forth from their wands and rocketed toward the man. Harry's struck the man in the face, making him fall dead to the ground, whilst Barty's flew right past him a second too late and hit the man behind him, who joined his commander on the ground in a heap.

A split second passed where nobody moved, then chaos erupted as spellfire rained down from the rooftops of the surrounding buildings and the Aurors scrambled into alleyways for cover.

Barty looked down at his wand and then over at Harry. "It's not fair, yours fires faster."

Harry scoffed. "Please, you're just slow."

"Faster than Regulus," Barty chortled.

Harry rolled his eyes. It had been an old rivalry between the two eldest brothers back before Regulus had disappeared. Who was the quicker wand-slinger, as Barty had put it. So far, Barty was undefeated. He always managed to be just that much faster on the draw than Regulus.

He climbed up the ladder, pausing half-way up to fire another curse at an Auror who tried to make a break for it. The Killing Curse struck him in the back as he ran and his forward momentum carried him another five steps or so before his body finally collapsed.

He climbed over the edge of the building and nodded to the others there as he threw back his hood and tugged the mask off of his face, letting his long hair fall free. He stuffed the mask into a pocket after shrinking it and then stood up to join in the bombardment of the Aurors. It was a massacre. There was nowhere for the Aurors to hide as every alley they went into for cover was between two buildings that the rebels were positioned atop of. On top of that, Fergus was a blur of motion down on the ground, appearing for little more than a second before disappearing and popping back up somewhere else.

It was only a few short minutes before it was all over. Not to say that they killed them all, but they stopped when what was essentially a firework that produced white sparks cracked in the air above them. Unfortunately, Harry had fired off a final Killing Curse just before and in the small silence that followed the spell struck its target dead. The sound of the body hitting the ground was like a period at the end of the sentence that was this battle.

A voice that Harry recognized as that of Karkaroff shouted down at the remaining Aurors in Bulgarian, and one of the remaining Aurors responded a short while later. The Aurors came out with their hands raised and tossed their wands down. They had surrendered.

Karkaroff shouted something else down to them and they all nodded frantically, apparating away one after the other.

One of the men atop the roof with Harry tapped him on the arm, making him turn toward him with a raised brow. The man jerked his head and pointed toward a boot laying on the rooftop. The Portkey.

Harry nodded his understanding and went over to it with the other six men on the roof with them. They each took hold of the boot and the man who had hit his arm said something in Bulgarian, activating the portkey.

When they landed, Harry the others found themselves outside the walls of an old Roman villa. All around them, more groups landed with their portkeys. The last group to arrive was the group with Fergus, who had to climb up to get to his portkey after the Aurors all left.

It was in this way that Harry noticed that each group had a commander with them. Tiberius had a group of ten men, Malcolm had a group of ten as well, Fergus was with a group of nine, Barty was with a group of seven, Krum had a group of fifteen, Karkaroff had a group of fifteen as well and Scabior had a group of ten, Regulus had a group of seven. Harry had a group of seven men. ninety men in nine groups, each with a single leader. Malcolm, Tiberius, Fergus, Regulus, Karkaroff, Krum, Scabior, Barty and Harry himself.

Why they hadn't been divided up into nine groups of ten, Harry had no idea. Fergus and the others had been in charge of that, though Harry did note that Karkaroff and Krum had more men and were closer to where the Aurors had arrived from, so maybe that had something to do with it. In fact, Harry, Barty and Regulus had the smallest groups and had been furthest from the enemy.

He shrugged, not really caring at the moment. All that mattered was that they had won and now they had a stronghold to hide out in.

Harry jogged over to where the others were gathering and clapped Barty on the shoulder. Barty grinned down at him and Regulus nodded to them with a smile on his face.

As one, the group entered the gates of the villa, which were being guarded from the inside by two men wear the red arm sashes of the rebellion, theirs bearing the lion, like Krum and Karkaroff. Harry came to the realization that the other man, Scabior, his might not have the lion because he was not Bulgarian.

Harry looked at Regulus and asked, "What's with the red arm bands? And why are they different?"

Regulus looked at the ones on the guards and then the one that Scabior, who was walking ahead of them, was wearing. "They mark them as official soldiers of the rebellion. It is something that only the Sons of Independence wear. In the muggle world, they might have used something different, given that such things tend to have a bit of a taboo on them, thanks in no small part to the Nazi Party in German, but in the Magical World, as you know, they care little for muggle politics and stigmas. Red is a color of power and strength, of passion and life. They chose this color because they see their homeland as powerful and strong, and they are passionate about fighting for it, and because they would give their lives for it. Also, they represent the blood of those who have already given their lives for the cause. Vladimir Krum, primarily."

Harry nodded. "Viktor's father, right?"

Regulus nodded back. "Yes. He was Minister here for a short time, but the ICW had him arrested and executed and put Oblansk back in power. That's what started the country down the road to civil war. It has been on that path for a while though. I'm sure you heard some of it back even before you went to Hogwarts. That was the time leading up to the election that Krum won. His stance on a lot of things made him quite popular with the common folk and very unpopular with the upper class and those in positions of power. He wanted to leave the ICW, focus on the homefront first and rebuild the economy of the Bulgarian Magical World. It may not have looked it back there, but those people, _these people_ ," he gestured around him to the civilians gathered within the walls of the villa, a lot of whom were looking at them with pride and gratitude in their eyes. "They are struggling. The value of gold and silver has gone down while the cost of living has gone up. The ICW heavily taxes commerce on top of all of that. They don't allow trading with non-members of the ICW either, so where the Ministry could get an item cheaper and in larger quantity from somewhere like Lichtenstein or Iceland or Finland, all of which are not part of the ICW and pretty much self-reliant, though they do often trade with each other. Instead of getting items cheaper from these places, they are instead forced to purchase and sell goods to other ICW members first. Outside trade is allowed in rare cases, but the ICW has to approve of it, and rarely do unless it is in some way in their favor."

Harry already knew most of this, but it was good to hear it all again. It reminded him why he was here rather than in England with his family. Well, that was a bit unfair to say; Regulus and Barty were his brothers, the first family he had ever truly had.

Harry was snapped out of this reverie by someone running out of the crowd of civilians, a young woman maybe a few years younger than him. She went right up to him and pushed a small bundle of flowers into his hands, smiling large, blushing prettily and bowing slightly before rushing back to the safety of the crowd, where she could be all but anonymous.

Barty and Regulus laughed at the bemused expression on Harry's face as he looked down at the flowers and then at the crowd where the girl had disappeared to, then back at the flowers. "Looks like you've gained a few admirers," Regulus quipped, causing Harry to look up at him.

Harry shook his head as they walked on. "Unlikely. More likely she just gave it to the first of us she saw. It's not like she was there to see the battle and know who I was or anything like that."

Barty shook his head sadly. "A pretty girl give him flowers and he has to try and think logically about it." He sighed in a lamenting way. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were gay...or asexual. Probably the latter. Anyway, if I didn't know that you've got a nice woman and child waiting for you back home..."

"Just accept it," Regulus said as Harry glowered at Barty. "It happens. You're a handsome bloke, Harry. People, especially girls, are bound to notice."

Barty groaned. "Oh, not you too."

Harry chuckled as Regulus smacked Barty sharply on the back on the head for his comment.

"So, the moral of this story," Harry said to the two of them, smirking. "Is that I got flowers from a pretty girl and you two didn't, which means that I am both better looking and smarter than both of you."

"Hey you wish," Regulus said, laughing, at the same time that Barty said. "Oi, what's flowers got to do with intelligence?"

A pause and then Barty said, "And what makes you think you're better looking?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm just going off the evidence shown to me. First, I had Pansy try to seduce me, then I met Hermione, whom I have a child with – which I think speaks for itself – then just now I got flowers from a girl I don't even know, and on top of that, did you have a pretty Auror visiting you regularly in Azkaban, Barty? An Auror, that, need I remind you, I could have shagged over the holidays that I spent at Potter Hall?"

Barty growled under his breath. "Yeah, yeah, you've got the looks, it seems, but how does intelligence factor in?"

"Well, Hermione was top of her year at Hogwarts. She wouldn't have fallen in love with an idiot, right? So that's one count of it being a factor. Pansy, for all that she had a poor choice in friends, was a smart girl, and while I may hate the ponce, Draco was intelligent for the most part. And since she tried to get with me _before_ she started dating Draco, that says something. So that's two. Now, Nymphadora is an Auror, and they don't take fools or idiots. And she is also a smart girl, and wouldn't be in love with an idiot. So that's three counts in favor. And then this girl, well, let's just say she showed her intelligence by approaching me rather than you, so that's four. So, two girls that like me and two that love me. I win."

Barty just gave his a rude gesture consisting of two fingers and huffed while Regulus laughed. Barty's face screwed up in concentration for a moment. "Wait, two girls in love with you? I get Hermione, but who was the other one?"

Harry cut his eyes over at him seriously. "Nymphadora."

"The Auror?" Regulus asked. "How do you know that?"

Harry looked uncomfortable. "When she would visit me, she would just stand at the door and talk to me. I could hear it in her voice." He sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do about that when I get back. I suppose I could just ignore it, but I feel like it should be addressed so it doesn't get out of hand."

Regulus and Barty shared a glance before Barty shrugged. Regulus looked back at Harry, who was in thought, his eyes slightly glazed over. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Harry. You always do."

By this point they had reached the actual house and made their way up to the second floor. In a room at the front of the house, with a balcony overlooking the front lawn, there was a table set up with eight chairs around it. While everyone else took a seat at the table, Harry went to the doors to the balcony and threw them open, leaning against the frame and looking out over the lawn at all of the civilians and soldiers moving about, setting up magical tents. Harry noticed a few soldiers leading a group of children inside the villa.

"Orphans," said a rough voice slightly behind Harry. He turned to see Karkaroff standing there, following his gaze. "We could not leave them behind."

Harry nodded as he turned away from the outside view and faced the table, where Karkaroff had taken the last seat. Harry conjured himself a comfortable chair and sat down where he was at.

"Right," Malcolm said, leaning forward on the table. "We'll need to plan our next move."

"Our main goal is the remove the Minister from power right? And place one of these lot in his place?" Barty asked.

Malcolm nodded. "That would be the general idea. We secure Bulgaria and then we take the fight to the ICW."

"Well, the easiest way would be to assassinate the Minister. Or capture him," Harry said, running a hand through his hair.

"The only problem with that is that he would have a number of personal guards now that war has begun. They will not let anyone close to him," Karkaroff interjected.

"Then we draw him into the open," Tiberius said, stroking his beard. "Make him come out o' his hole, as it were."

"Oblansk won't join in a fight," Regulus countered, shaking his head. "He's a coward, not a fighter. He'll stay as far away from the fighting as he can."

"Then we take the fight to him," Harry said, as if it were obvious.

"There's no way we'd get close to him," Regulus retorted. "It'll be hard enough getting into the Ministry at this point, they'll have our faces plastered all over the place by morning."

"What about his home?" Tiberius asked. Everyone looked at him. "Think about it. You hunt a bear by cornering it in its cave. If we go to his home we stand a better chance of getting at him. Even a coward feels invisible in his own home, and he wouldn't think to add more security there, since he would think that we'd attack the Ministry first."

Fergus nodded, getting a mischievous look in his eye. "The fox kills the chicken in the coop."

Tiberius nodded and bumped his fist on the table. "See, our friend from _É_ _ire_ gets it."

"There's only one problem," Malcolm said, holding up his hand for them to listen. "We don't know where his home is."

Silence fell over the table and it's occupants for a moment as they all considered this setback.

"Actually, that is not true."

Everyone looked up at Krum, who had spoken into the silence.

"I know vhere his home is," he said. At a gesture from Malcolm, he went on. "I, for a time, I have been having an..uh, how you say... _afera_ vith the Minister's daughter, Elena."

"You been having an affair with the Minister's daughter?" Malcolm asked, making sure he had heard right.

Krum nodded his head.

"Ooh, scandal," Barty said, laughing and drumming on the table with his hand. "I like it! What's she like? Is she nice? I bet she's nice."

"And she will let us in?" Harry asked, ignoring Barty's yapping and wondering why this sounded too easy.

Krum looked doubtful. "I do not know, but it is vorth a try, _ne_?"

Harry nodded. "It could work. If nothing else, we can always kidnap her and use her as leverage to get Oblansk to come out in the open."

Krum slammed his fist down on the tabletop, standing up and glaring at Harry. "I vill not allow such a thing! She is not to come to harm!"

Harry smirked. "I didn't say we were going to harm her. I said we're going to use her. Maybe."

"Sit down, Viktor," Karkaroff, said, placing a hand on the younger man's arm. "No harm will come to Elena. You have my word." Krum looked down at him for a moment, then nodded, dropping back into his seat.

"Our tempers are running high," Malcolm said, looking between Harry, who was calm as gentle breeze, and Krum, who was still giving Harry a hard look. "Let us all retire for the day. We'll reconvene tomorrow afternoon to discuss this further."

Everyone filtered out, leaving Harry, Regulus, Barty and Malcolm. The latter looked over at Harry sternly. "What was that?"

Harry raised a brow. "What was what?"

"You know what," Malcolm hissed. "Provoking Viktor like that."

Harry shrugged and stood up. "You brought us here to do a job. That's what I'm doing. It's a bit late to be getting upset with my methods."

Malcolm shook his head. "It isn't the methods I have a problem with. Sure, I don't like the idea of using a man's child against him, but this is a war and we must be ruthless. What I have a problem with is infighting. I'll not have our commanders at each other's throats. We have to stand together or we will fail."

"Is this one of those 'united we stand, divided we fall' speeches?" Barty asked. "I always loved those."

"Join or die," Harry said, "would be more accurate. Though, I guess, they essentially mean the same thing in the end." He sighed resentfully and walked over to where Malcolm was standing, leaning in to whisper darkly to the older man. "Fine, I'll play nice for now, but I won't hesitate to do what I feel has to be done. Don't try to stop me, and don't get in my way."

Malcolm met his eyes and nodded. "That's all I'm asking."

Harry nodded back, and Barty and Regulus followed suit.

"Right," Malcolm exhaled, taking a step away from Harry. "Let's get you three rooms so that you can get settled in. Who knows how long we'll actually be here."

"Not very long, if I have anything to say about it," Harry muttered as he made to follow.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: All right, another chapter down. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks for reading. Please leave some feedback.**

 **Important cast introduced:**

 **Igor Karkaroff [ Portrayed by Predrag Bjelac ]**

 **Viktor Krum [ Portrayed by Stanislav Ianevski ]**

 **Scabior [ Portrayed by Nick Moran ]**


	13. The Moon in a Cage

**XIII. The Moon in a Cage**

Barty couldn't quite figure out how he had gotten himself into this mess.

Here he was, locked in a damned cage underground with no one but an air-headed girl, a crying girl and a useless boy for company.

He rattled the bars of the cage, creating as much noise as he could, shouting at the top of his lungs for someone to come down and let him out. Of course, no one answered him, but it felt good to yell all the same.

Thinking back on it, he actually wasn't surprised that he had ended up where he was now.

It had all started that morning. He had woken up in the room that Malcolm had assigned him in the roman villa owned by the Krum family, and went about his morning routine of shaving and showering, then getting dressed in a plain black shirt and trousers and slipping on his boots. He didn't bother combing his hair. He wasn't trying to impress anyone with his appearance and he didn't have to keep up the image of the well-behaved and respectable family heir anymore. So, what did it really matter?

Regulus, the prat, liked to tease him about going through a midlife crisis and reverting back to the rebellious teenager phase that Barty hadn't actually gone through. According to his brother in all but blood, he was making up for having skipped it all those years ago. Barty's response was a simple two fingered salute and a roll of the eyes. Most of the time. Other times he'd just start rambling about something or another until Reggie gave up and changed the subject.

It was a bad habit, his rambling, but it wasn't really his fault. He couldn't help it. Sometimes, he just started on a subject and he just couldn't stop himself. Thoughts would appear in his head and his mouth would translate them into speech without his consent; and a lot of the time those thoughts were contradictory and it seemed almost like he was soft in the head or having a small argument with himself.

It wasn't his fault though, not really. It wasn't like he did it on purpose or anything. Luckily, Harry and Reggie just took it in stride and didn't take the mickey out of him for it. In fact, Harry seemed to find it almost amusing. He had since he was a young lad and Barty had been his teacher. The boy would giggle and laugh as Barty went back and forth on a subject. Thinking about it now, Barty really missed those days.

One wouldn't think it but he was a kind heart. Sure, he could be vicious and cruel and more than a little sadistic, but when it came to his brothers, nothing mattered more in the world than them. Which was why it still hurt him, even to this day, that Harry had become so cold and dark. It made sense though, given the environment in which he had spent his childhood, and the first real memories he had were being tortured and then killing someone at the age of five. That sort of thing was bound to mess someone up and stunt them from growing in a way that a loving and nurturing environment would have helped with.

Not for the first time, he cursed Voldemort to the hell that he hoped the bastard was rotting in.

Despite his own father's distance, Barty would say that he had had a fairly normal childhood. He received love and support from his mother and their family House Elf, Winky, and just a few rare words of praise from his father.

Now, there were some who believed that a boy raised almost solely by females would grow up to be weak, but Barty had proven that idea wrong on so many occasions that he didn't bother trying to keep count anymore. It wasn't until he was in his teens and the later years of his Hogwarts education that he started showing signs of aggression and violence. And even then, it wasn't anything overly noticeable. He fell in with Regulus Black and his friends, aspiring Death Eaters, and after graduating they all took the Dark Mark together.

During that time, he had become close to the LeStrange brothers, along with Bellatrix – she had been much more sane in those days – but it wasn't long before young Harry arrived at their base. Something in that small child moved his heart in a way that all the screaming and pleading of his victims never could, and Regulus had always been a gentle soul, despite his wanting to be a Death Eater – which had stemmed more from wanting to make his family proud than actually supporting the Dark Lord.

He had been nineteen years old then, and from that day on, he had been looking out for Harry as if he were really his own flesh and blood. All things considered, he could very well have looked at the boy as his own son, as Harry's own mother wasn't but two years older than him, but he came to realize later that Harry didn't need a father, he needed a brother, and that was what Barty and Regulus were to him.

When Regulus disappeared, it had just been him and Harry against the world. They did everything together. They fought together, trained together, learned together. Even now, he could see that his bond with Harry was stronger than the one between Harry and Regulus, even his own bond with Regulus paled in comparison to the one he shared with Harry. Regulus had acknowledged that this was inevitable, as he had been gone for many years before he regained contact with Barty just around the time that they had attacked the Longbottoms.

Regulus was still their brother, but he had a lot of lost time to make up for.

Now, with all of that in mind, he still worried about Harry. The boy had a darkness inside him that would never go away, and though he had found love – and Barty was immeasurably grateful to Hermione Granger for that – that did nothing to erase that darkness.

Of course, since meeting Hermione, Harry had come out of his hole, as it were. He was more open and more retrained. Now, though, with his time in Azkaban still casting a small but lingering shadow over him, and the distance between him and his woman and son, Harry was struggling. He hid it well, but Barty had over twenty years of experience reading the boy. At twenty-four years of age, Harry had seen more violence and horror, and been through more pain than most people three times his age would ever see in their lifetimes. How the kid wasn't insane was a mystery, and miracle in and of itself; or at least it would be if Barty believed in such things, which he didn't.

No, the truth was, Harry was just made of stronger stuff than most people. He had been hardened and refined through fire and come out all the stronger for it. Barty liked to think that he had a hand in making the boy so strong.

On top of this, Harry seemed lost. Barty would sometimes catch him staring into the distance, a faraway look in his eyes and a strange sense of longing surrounding him. Barty knew that Harry was thinking of Hermione and Hugo in these times, wondering if he'd ever see them again; if he'd ever make it home. And if he did make it home, what then? What was there for him to do? He was still, technically, a wanted man. If he went out in public in England or anywhere else for that matter, he'd be recognized and the hunt would begin all over again.

Harry's whole life had been war and fighting, and it seemed there was much more of that in the cards for him, but what was the point of it all. These were the questions that Barty knew Harry struggled with every day. What was he fighting for? To protect his family? Sure. To ensure a better future for them? Sure. But what about himself?

Barty didn't have the answers any more than Harry did. He considered the questions for himself too. What was the point of it all? What did he have to go home to? A father that never loved him? His mother was dead, and he had no wife or children. He was forty-two years old and had no one but his brothers. Maybe, once this all settled, he would go back to England and find himself a nice woman and settle down, finally. He doubted it, but he could hope.

After all, if he didn't have a son, his family name would die with him. And as much as he usually rebelled at such ideas, it left an ill feeling in his stomach to think of himself as the last Crouch. After his father died, and he was very much looking forward to killing the hard-line bastard, it would be just him.

He sighed at the thought as he lowered himself down into a chair as the table they had all sat at the evening before, and reached for the steaming teapot that was sitting in the center of it, conjuring a cup for himself. There was cream, sugar and honey on the table, but he ignored it all and sipped his tea straight, like it was supposed to be. He didn't understand why people sweetened tea, it was just fine how it was and the sugar made his teeth hurt. He was never big on sweets. Except for bananas, he liked bananas. They were always great at parties. He remembered one time he had used one to fu- well, he had charmingly and cunningly convinced a young pureblood heiress to buff the muffin and then jill herself with the thing while he watched. Of course, he hadn't let the fruit have all the fun, but he was more than willing to let his delicious yellow friend get things started. Moral of the story, always take a banana to a party. Bananas are good. And so was black tea without sugar, cream or honey. Or whiskey. He blamed the Irish for that becoming a thing; though it might have been the Scottish, he really wasn't sure. Either way, he blamed the Irish.

He finished the first cup and poured himself a second.

He sipped it idly while just enjoying the quiet morning. He didn't know where anyone else was at but he was perfectly content to just sit there and hum the Imperial March to himself while enjoy a nice cuppa.

Unfortunately, that meant that the Universe was going to go ahead and ruin said contentment by introducing a variable that could either make things go towards the better or worse, depending on how things played. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that the Universe was a right bastard with a sick sense of humor and a backward and/or broken moral compass.

Thus it was that he found himself sharing the table – and the tea, consequently – with Viktor Krum, the Lord of the Manor, as it were. Looking at him, he definitely seemed like a big old sour pus, not really having smiled once since he had met the man. The most emotion he had seen out of him was his burst of anger the previous evening when Harry had suggested that they take Elena Oblansk – little Viktor's secret squeeze – captive and use her as bait to get her father out in the open so they could kill him. Barty not-so-secretly supported the idea. Harry wanted to get this all over with as quickly as possible so that they could get back home, and Barty wholeheartedly agreed with that idea too.

Unfortunately, Harry had a bad habit, or maybe just a habit, no definitely a bad one. But was it really? No, no, not at all...Well, maybe a little. No, it wasn't bad at all. He nodded, having decided that it indeed was _not_ a bad habit. So, anyway, Harry had a habit of stating things rather bluntly and without regard for the feelings of others, sometimes, and last night had been no exception. It really wasn't a bad habit, was it? He shrugged to himself.

This, not bad at all, habit had set off the former professional Quidditch Star and caused him to shout at Harry, who took it in stride. It wasn't the first time someone had yelled at him after all, though most of the time those people didn't live to tell about it.

Hell, Barty had been slightly worried when Malcolm had called Harry out for provoking Krum. He hadn't seen Harry do that whole 'invade personal space and whisper dark and threatening things' thing for a long time. It was almost enough to make him worried all over again. Luckily, Harry seemed to not be planning on killing their allies so that was good. That had been a problem once or twice in the past, especially with useless skull-mask Death Eaters getting in the way and just generally being useless; it was in the name: _useless_ skull-mask Death Eaters.

Meeting Hermione and Dumbledore had certainly had a major effect on his little brother, that was for sure.

Coming back to the moment at hand, Barty suddenly became aware of an awkward tension in the room with him. He frowned and looked over at Krum, who was blatantly staring at him across the table. "Oi, did you want something are you just admiring my roguishly handsome good looks?"

Krum scowled, which seemed to be a default expression for the man. Barty mentally shrugged, figuring the guy hadn't had a chance to visit the Minister's daughter for a while and was suffering from a lack of release/stress relief. Either that or he was just a naturally grumpy bastard. Whichever. Either one was likely and worked to explain the situation, he was sure.

"What, kitty got your tongue? No, wait, if that were case you'd probably be happy, or at least I hope so, and not here. You be there, lapping at the kitty." Barty raised a brow at getting no response from the younger man. "You do know what kitty is, right? Beaver? Ax Wound? The Cockpit? Cunny? Cunt? Clam? The Dragon's Lair? The Falcon Crest? The Honey Pot? Muffin? Pussy? The Wizard's Sleeve? The Yawning Chasm? The Castle? The Coin Purse? Lucifer's Cradle? The Lion's Den? The Great Beyond? Heaven in a Hole? The Path of Glory? The Lady Flower? The Sacred Rose? The Baby Cannon? Come on, mate, you're killing me here."

Krum narrowed his eyes. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Barty barked a laugh. "No, not when I'm awake. So, come on, you've got to be excited. You get to see your lady love today, or tonight, whatever. I'd be excited, just saying, but I don't have a lady love. A real tragedy that. Oh, no, don't cry for me, it really isn't all that bad."

Krum was not crying.

Barty sighed. "Tough crowd. All right, in all seriousness, you really aught to smile a bit more. People like that sort of thing, I think."

"I do not like your friend," Krum said, completely ignoring what Barty had said.

Barty shrugged. "Join the party. Most of the important people back home don't like him either. But that might be because he made them look like fools, and not because he was planning to kidnap their girlfriends. Well, there was that one bloke. The redhead, who thought that Hermione was his or some other such nonsense. He thought Harry was kidnapping his girlfriend, even though she wasn't his girlfriend and was actually Harry's girlfriend, so it really wouldn't have been kidnapping really, but they didn't see it that way so something happened where he tried to force himself on her and then she decided to teach him a lesson by cutting his dangley bits off with a cutting curse or five and then carve the word 'rapist' on him, then killed his little sister and the whole thing got blamed on Harry and where the hell was I going with this?"

"I do not like him because he does not care about others," Krum went on as if Barty had not spoken at all. "He has no regard for the feeling of others or the honor of var."

Barty scoffed, hearing this. "Right, well, listen close, I'm gonna tell you what I told him years ago: there is no honor in war. Now, before you interrupt me, let me elaborate. In war, there are no rules that can be enforced until after the fact. Now, during war, you do what you have to do to defeat your enemy, and the only way to truly defeat your enemy is to thoroughly destroy him. Harry knows this better than most. There was a time when he and I were on opposing sides and he was going to kidnap my mother to get to me. You might think I would hate him for that, but I don't. I taught him that. He was just doing as I had taught him to do. If your enemy has a weakness, exploit it. Now, you might try to argue about dying with honor. That's a whole different story. If you die saving a friend or comrade's life, then you died with honor. If you face death on your feet without fear, you died with honor. If you fear death but charge in anyway and you die, you died with honor. If you die fighting for something love or believe in, you died with honor. There is no honor for the killer, only the killed. Harry knows this too, he learned it at the age of five years old, when he killed the Head of the Black Family. He showed he understood it when he killed Dumbledore himself, as a friend, rather than let some weak Death Eater deal the final blow. Honor is a concept that you can live with and you can die with, but you cannot kill with it. When a warrior kills a fellow warrior, he is honoring them, not the other way around. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Krum nodded. "You are saying that you vill do vhatever it takes to vin, no matter vhether it is honorable."

Barty rolled his eyes. "Essentially, yes. There are ways to win war honorably, in theory. If your enemy surrenders to you and you spare them, that is honorable, but if they were a strong opponent and you kill them and they face death without fear, that is also honorable. But, the things that bring you to that point are rarely honorable. Brutality and a stone heart are the most efficient weapons of war, for if you have those, you can do anything. Nothing will hold you back from doing what must be done."

Krum frowned into his teacup, or just looked, Barty couldn't really tell, the two were too similar. "I do not think this is a vay I can live."

Barty smiled grimly. "War isn't living, it's something we try to live through. Peace isn't living either, though, not really, because peace is nothing more than the confusion between two wars. Even if there is no war on the outside, there will always be one inside, in one form or another. Something so simple as deciding what shirt to wear or what to eat for dinner can be seen as a war within."

"Getting philosophical on us, Barty?"

Barty looked up to see Harry leaning against he wall by the entrance to the room. His face was mostly blank, but there was a bit of mirth in his eyes.

"Harry, how long have you been there?" Barty asked.

Harry gave a quiet laugh. "Long enough. Do I want to know why you know so many names for the vagina?"

Barty laughed and waved the question off.

"But, you are right, for the most part. Honor is a vague concept that I rarely think about. I gave Walburga an honorable death, and I gave Albus an honorable death. However, one could make the argument that I acted honorably, at least in the case of the latter. Not in the killing itself, but in the motives for the killing. I killed him, because I didn't want a swine like Draco Malfoy to do it. He did not earn it and did not deserve that perceived glory. Dying honorably though, does not make you a good person if you did not live honorably too. You aren't remembered by how you died, you are remembered by how you lived." Harry paused and looked over to Krum, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. "I do the things I do, not because I enjoy them, no, but because I must. Even when I was a Death Eater, I was serving a purpose, maybe not my own, but a purpose nonetheless. Now, I fight to protect the ones I love. I thrill in the fight, that I will admit, but I do not actively seek it out. I kill because it serves a purpose, not because I get off on it." He looked at Barty. "Come on, walk with me."

Without waiting for Barty to answer, Harry turned and left the room the same way he had come. Barty sighed, drained the rest of his tea, and stood to follow, vanishing the cup he had conjured as he stood, giving a nod to Krum on his way out the door.

He caught up to Harry as the younger man was descending the stairs to the ground floor.

"What's up, Harry?" Barty inquired as soon as he drew level with him.

Harry shook his head. "The walls have ears."

Barty looked around at the walls as if expecting them to suddenly sprout said appendages.

Once they were outside, Harry led him through the small city of tents that had been set up over the lawn of the villa. Barty briefly caught a glimpse of the girl that had given Harry flowers duck out of sight behind a tent, her face flushed as she saw them. He frowned but didn't comment on it and Harry barely glanced at her.

They nodded to the rebels manning the gates, who opened them for them to pass through without a word.

Once outside the walls of the villa, Harry kept walking until they felt the edge of the wards that had been set up. Stopping just outside of them, Harry turned to face him. "Later on today, we are going to have another meeting to discuss going to Oblansk's home. I know that I caused a bit of a stir last night but I still stand by my plan. If we fail to get at him tonight, I will take the girl. I do not care if it offends Krum or not. I will not have us staying here any longer than necessary. I won't harm the girl unless it there is no other choice in the matter."

Barty nodded. "I kind of figured that."

"But, that's not the reason I brought you all the way out here," Harry went on. "I have a feeling that this is all seeming too easy. Krum just happens to know where the Minister lives and is in a secret relationship with his daughter. It won't be that easy, I assure you. She won't let us just waltz in and kill her father, and if she does, I shudder to think what kind of father he is. I don't think using her to get us in is the way to go. I'm going to say as much at the meeting, and I need your support."

Barty considered for a second, before nodding. Harry was right, of course. It did seem far too simple.

After bit more general conversation, Harry departed back toward the villa, with Barty trailing along at a more leisurely pace. On his way back, Barty again saw the Flower Girl hide herself as Harry passed. He frowned again and decided that his curiosity was just peaked enough to go and see just what the hell was up with that.

So, with that in mind, he walked directly toward the girl, keeping his eyes on her as he approached so that she would know that he had seen her and could not hide from him. That sounded creepy, he thought to himself but shrugged it off.

She caught sight of him coming toward her and looked like she was contemplating making a run for it, her eyes wide like a frightened rabbit.

Barty held his hands up in a non-threatening manner as he drew nearer to her, but she still looked cornered. He sighed. "Do you speak English?" he asked her.

She looked around for a moment, the nodded. "Y-yes."

Barty nodded. "What's your name?"

She swallowed. "Nadya. Nadya Andonova."

Barty hummed. "Right. So, tell me, Nadya, why you seem to be stalking my little brother."

If anything, she looked even more alarmed now. Her cheeks turned red and she looked down shyly. "I vasn't stalking."

Barty snorted. "No, I suppose not, just engaging in a bit of harmless voyeurism." He tilted his head. "What was up with the flowers?"

Nadya blushed brighter. "I..I vanted to thank him."

Barty narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Beg pardon? Thank him? For what?"

She raised her eyes finally to meet his and he saw nothing but sincerity shining through. "He saved my life."

Barty thought back to everything that had happened since they arrived in Bulgaria. It only took a moment for him to come up with the right memory. Harry tugging a girl out of the way of that cart that he himself had saved that little boy from. "You were the girl that he pulled back from being hit by that cart." It was a statement, not a question, but she nodded anyway. "So, why the flowers though? You could have just said 'thank you'. You speak English well enough." Her cheeks, which had gone back to their normal hue suddenly flushed again and Barty understood. "Ah, I see. You fancy him." At her confused look he clarified, "You _like_ him." She nodded and Barty sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. How did he get himself into these situations? Oh, right, curiosity. "I guess there is no easy way to do this, but I should do it anyway and save you the heartbreak. Listen, Harry, he's...married, essentially. Not really but he has a woman he loves and a son waiting for him back home. I understand you have an attraction to him and feel you owe him your life, and maybe you do. Life debts are no small thing, but you have to understand that it cannot be. I know it is hard to hear, but it had to be said."

Nadya looked downcast as this, but nodded her head in understanding. "I understand. Thank you, for being honest. Vould you pass along my thanks to him?"

Barty nodded. "If that's what you want me to do. I know I just said you should give up your romantic interest in him, but that doesn't mean you can't say 'thank you' yourself."

She shook her head. "I vould not be able to. I tried vhen I gave him the flowers but I couldn't speak. So, I just smiled and ran avay."

Barty shrugged. "All right. I'll pass it along. Just, try to tone down the stalker behavior. It's a bit...weird."

With that, he went on his way.

As he walked, he could see the other 'commanders' walking about, talking to soldiers and civilians alike, overseeing the details of further setting up the camp. There were fighters off to the side of the manor house that were dueling each other, overseen by the English bloke, Scabior, who was walking among them, arms crossed over his chest and a stern expression on his face.

Barty leaned against the side of the house, watching them, shaking his head at the amount of rookie mistakes a lot of them were making. One man tried to get too fancy with his wand movements and left himself wide open to attack, an opening that his opponent quickly capitalized on and stunned him.

Scabior sneered at them and revived the fallen man, growling something at him that Barty didn't catch. The man nodded frantically before retaking his fighting stance and resumed dueling under the watchful eyes of the long-haired wizard.

"What kind of name is Scabior?" Barty asked as the younger man passed near him.

Scabior paused and looked over at him. "Don't know," he admitted, his accent clear for Barty to hear.

"You from London?"

Scabior nodded. "East End. Whitechapel."

Barty grinned. "Ah, a Cockney. You any good at that old rhyming slang of theirs?"

Scabior shrugged. "I'd cocoa. I'm Robin Hood. My Finger and Thumb was a One Time Looker on round Commercial, and my father was a bit of an Andy, from what I gather. As a Bin Lid I filched what I needed to go to Jah, After that I got myself in a bit of Barney and ended up in the Boom and Mizzen for stretch. Now I'm here with these berks who don't know the end of their wand from their Myleene. If they don't shape up soon I may just have to put my Duke in their Chevy Chase."

Barty sat there with a glazed look in his eye. "Yeah, you lost me after like the first word. You mind repeating all that in English?"

Scabior smirked. "I said: 'I'd say so. I'm good. My mother was a hooker on round Commercial Street and my father was a bit of a dandy from what I gather. As a kid I stole what I needed to go to school. After than I got myself in a bit of trouble and ended up in prison for a stretch. Now, I'm here with these cunts who don't know the end of their wand from their arse. If they don't shape up soon I may just have to put my fist in their face."

Barty tilted his head. "So why not just say that? I mean, wasn't that easier?"

Scabior shrugged again. "Probably. I've gotten used to speaking either way, depending on where I am. As for your first question, I have no idea where the name comes from, but it's the only one I've got."

"You don't mean..." Barty started before Scabior nodded.

"Scabior. That's it. No other name. No middle name, no surname. Just Scabior." He looked over at the trainees. "My mum didn't have any other name either, and she doesn't know my father's name. He was a john, nothing more. Paid a few galleons for a good time and went on his way. Never met him, never seen him. Doesn't matter either way."

"So, you attended Hogwarts, then?" Barty asked, changing the subject.

Scabior walked over and revived another fighter, giving him a swift kick in the arse and barking at him to go again; or at least that's what Barty assumed since it was said in Bulgarian. "I did. From 1980 to 1987."

Barty nodded. "So that'd make you, what, thirty-five now?"

"Yeah," Scabior agreed.

"So, other than training this lot, what's exactly is your role here?"

"I'm a scout, a runner, a hunter, a thief, a tracker, a snatcher," Scabior listed.

Barty cocked his head to the side. "A snatcher? What's that?"

"It means," Scabior said, hauling another trainee off the ground, "that if there's someone they need kidnapped or captured, I'm the guy they send."

"So, I reckon you must be quite stealthy, then?"

"Come's with the territory."

Barty nodded, an idea forming in his head. "Right...Well, I need to go and have a chat with my brother. It was nice meeting you."

He went back around the front of the house, noticing Harry up on the balcony of the meeting room. He went inside and climbed the stairs, then went and joined Harry on the balcony.

"You know that thing we were talking about earlier?" Barty started, making Harry turn his emerald eyes toward him, then nod. "Well, I think I have an idea. There's a bloke here, goes by Scabior, you remember him, yeah? Well, he says he's a snatcher, something like a professional kidnapper, as well as a tracker and scout. I'm thinking, once we know where this Oblansk geezer is holed up, we get him and go in there. If the old dog isn't there, or we can't get to him for whatever fucking reason, we have him grab the girl and bring her on back here or to somewhere else where only we know."

Harry nodded. "It's not a bad idea, but I already have something planned." He looked at Barty seriously, how do you feel about getting yourself caught by the Minister's home guards?"

"Well, to be quite honest I feel like that's a terrible idea," Barty said. "Tell me more."

And, that, he realized, was how he had ended up in this mess.

He rattled the bars of the cage again, yelling loudly at the top of his lungs.

"I really don't think that's going to do any good," the boy said. "They won't let you out."

"No one asked your opinion, Scampster!" Barty barked.

"It's Scamander," the boy corrected, but he was ignored. He was a ponce anyway.

"And, I don't want them to let me out, I want them to come down here so I can KICK THERE BLOODY FAT ARSES AND PAINT THE WALLS WITH THEIR BLOOD! I mean, seriously, this place could use some color. Even if red isn't really my style," he rolled his eyes around, looking at the stone walls. "Too Gryffindor for my taste."

"I think red is a lovely color," the air-headed girl said. "And I think your idea is a nice one. It would brighten this place up a bit, I think."

Barty rattled the cage again and nodded his head. "Why, thank you, Ms. Lovegood, that's very nice of you to say. By any chance, do you like bananas?"

Luna was stopped from answering this odd question by the sound of the door to the room opening.

"Well, it's about bloody time!" Barty howled. Rattling the bars again.

"You vill keep quiet or I vill make you quiet," one of the guards said.

"Ooh, what're you gonna do?" Barty taunted. "Arrest me? Lock me up? Throw me in a cage? Well you're too late! HA!" He grinned widely and madly, pressing his face between the bars.

The man walked away again. "It isn't any use," said the second girl. "Ve'll die in here."

Barty turned toward her and sneered. "Oh, and why is that, Miss Elena Oblansk? Because your daddy found out about you and Vicki taking old one-eye to the optometrist behind his and your fiance's backs?" He paused. "Sorry about that, by the way. Wasn't actually part of the plan, you see. Anyway, we aren't going to die in here. Right, Luna?"

Luna looked up at him in her usual dreamy way. "Quite right. Harry's here."

Barty raised a brow. "Really? Well, that's good to hear. Kinda thought he might have forgotten about the party. What I'd do to have a banana right now. Oh, well." He waved his hand at the cage door and the lock clicked open. "Let's mosey!"

He trotted out of the cage, the other three scrambling after him, the boy, Scamarder or whatever his name was, demanding why he hadn't just done that in the first place.

Barty ignored him and blasted the door off the hinges, the sound of shouting and a few explosions sounding from elsewhere in the house. He was supposed to have waited until he heard an explosion hit the house to escape, but well, that Luna girl had some weird sense or something and he trusted her. She was one of Harry's friends after all.

The room they had been locked in was in the basement of the house, and they had to climb a flight of stairs to get up to the ground floor. He opened the door with a wave of his hand just as an explosion rocked the house and destroyed a section of wall right in front of him, sending him reeling back with an arm over his face to block the wood splinters. A second later, Scabior jumped through the hole in the wall that the explosion created.

"A bit of warning next time would be great!" Barty shouted over the din. "As it turns out, you're a bit late. I already found the girl. Don't know how much use she'll be as a hostage though. I kind of let slip about her and Krum and her dad locked her up with us. I know, I know, totally my fault, it was an accident." Truth was, he had taken one look at the girl and muttered something along the lines of 'Damn, I can see why Krum decided to ride that pony'. Unfortunately, Her father had heard him and quickly put two and two together. Barty had forgotten that the man understood English pretty well. And well, from that point, that part of the plan was out the window. He was just supposed to get himself caught and confirm whether Oblansk was there, then join the fight from the inside when it started. Well, he had technically completed all of his objectives. He got caught, Oblansk was here, and he was now joining the fight. Scabior's job just got a bit easier is all.

Harry came in through the hole in the wall too and looked around, seeing Scabior take hold of Elena's arm. "Everything good?"

Barty nodded. "You bet! Oh, look what I found!" He moved so that Harry could see Luna. "I found the Moon in a cage!"

"Hello, Harry," Luna said dreamily. "You're looking quite well for a dead man, I must say. What's your secret? Is it gnome saliva? Daddy always says it's very beneficial."

Harry couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face at seeing his old friend. "Luna, it is good to see you." He pulled her into a hug, which she returned, smiling happily with her eyes closed.

Barty cursed. What was it with Harry and women? If he kept this up, there'd be none left for the rest of them!

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, releasing the small blonde girl. "Never mind, we'll talk later. Scabior, get them out of here."

Scabior nodded and told Luna and the boy to follow him, he still had his hand clamped around Elena's arm, pulling her along, though she wasn't really struggling against him.

"Shall we?" Harry asked, pulling a wand out and tossing it to Barty, who caught it easily.

"Let's go," Barty agreed, taking off at a jog. "The bastard should be in his office. It's fortified with a safe room inside. This way."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, jogging just behind Barty.

"I used Legilimency on his daughter, how else?"

Harry nodded. "Good thinking."

"Come on, it's right around this corner." He turned, then scrambled back. "Not good! Not good!" Several killing curses flew past them and impacted against the wall. "Well," Barty grinned. "That was close!" He poked his wand around the corner and fired off a silent _Bombarda_ _Maxima_ , the resulting explosion bringing part of the ceiling down on the Aurors in the hall.

Harry and Barty darted around the corner and Barty blasted a door open, rushing inside and aiming his wand at the fireplace after a quick sweep of the room, blasting it with a powerful Reductor Curse.

A cry of fear from inside alerted them to the fact that their prey was in fact in there. Harry ducked in first, batting away a curse that was thrown at him. A killing curse followed but went wide and hit harmlessly against the wall. Harry smirked at the cowering man. "Hello, Minister. Please, come with us. We have much to discuss."

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: All right. So there's that. I hope you all liked it. Leave me some feedback!**

 **Characters Introduced:**

 **Luna Lovegood [ Portrayed by Evanna Lynch]**

 **Rolf Scamander [Portrayed by Ben Barnes]**


	14. One for the Hangman

**XIV. One for the Hangman**

Harry looked around the safe-room, taking it in with a glance. The walls were made of strong-looking stone and reinforced with steel. The walls were decorated with paintings and tapestries, and there was even a large mounted red deer head and antlers on the wall above where they had just come from; Harry didn't know much about hunting but he guess that the size of the antlers must have something to do with it, because these were huge. He reckoned Tiberius could tell him about it if he asked, since the man was reportedly something of an outdoorsman and hunter. Not that Harry cared enough to ask.

The Minister was cowering behind a large ornate desk and comfortable looking chair. All in all, this safe-room looked more like an office that the Minister could escape to if he didn't want to be disturbed. The one item that didn't quite make sense to him was the bed in the back corner, separated from the rest of the room by a floor-to-ceiling curtain, which was currently drawn back, allowing the bed to be seen. It was lavishly arranged and there was a wrack on the wall bearing what appeared to be whips and cuffs. Honestly, Harry had pretty good idea of what it was used for but he really didn't want to have that mental image in his head, especially considering the man in front of him. He was not handsome and while the portrait of himself hanging on the wall – yes, he had a portrait of himself in his office – showed him to be quite fit and dressed in what Harry guessed was a hunter's attire, the man in front of him now was quite rotund, and not even in the jolly fat man sort of way that someone like Slughorn had been when Harry saw him in Voldemort's memories.

Harry shrugged mentally as he approached the front of the desk. Wealth and power were strong motivators to some women, and men; he wasn't one to judge on preference. He jumped up on the desk with ease and kicked as the Minister tried to raise his wand at him. The wand flew from his hand and clattered to the floor after hitting the wall, a small shower of sparks spouting from the tip momentarily upon impact. "Well, well, Mr. Minister," Harry said mockingly.

He raised his boot and kicked the Minister square in the face, sending the large man to the floor as blood began pouring from his mouth. It seemed Harry had knocked a few teeth loose.

Harry glanced over to where Barty was looking at the bed and whips with a raised brow. "Seems we've caught ourselves quite a deviant here, eh, Barty?"

Barty snorted. "It would seem that way. Women actually come in here?" He asked looking alarmed. "It's like a little office-slash-dungeon in here. Do you reckon his wife knows about this?"

"Pl-pleathe," the Minister sputtered through the blood and broken teeth. "You can'th thell my vifthe."

"That's a 'no', then," Barty said nodding. "Ooh, naughty boy. Cheating on the missus, sleeping around behind her back, and in her own home to boot. For shame. Do you think she'll need consoling?"

Harry looked at Barty queerly. Sure, he had always been a bit of a Casanova but this was a bit different. While his tone was lighthearted and joking, there was something off around the eyes. "You're acting a bit odd, Barty. Everything all right?" He noticed the Minister start to try and sneakily crawl away from them and fired a quick bludgeoning curse into his leg, shattering the knee from the back, effectively stopping him.

Barty shrugged and stood up from where he had been pilfering through the drawers on the nightstand beside the bed. "Eh, well, you know. I've recently come to the realization that I, meaning myself, am in quite a rather troublesome and awkward position if you will."

Harry couldn't resist a bit of fun-poking. "Barty, you can just come on out and say it. Regulus and I already know you fantasize about being in a torture dungeon with a fat older man."

"Ha-bloody-ha!" Barty said, making a rude gesture with his hand. "No, I find myself set to be the last of my line; that is, the last Crouch. Once I kill my old man, that is. Anyway, whilst I do so bloody hate my father, my mother, gods preserve her, was a kind and gentle woman who only wanted what was best for me...and grandchildren. Not always in that order. Now, I know she is dead and all now, but I'm sure that wherever she is, she's still waiting for me to grow up and get a move on in siring an heir. And, I find myself in the position where the only women I know are either married, not-really-married-but-still-kinda-married, soon-to-be-married, dead, or Hermione, who is basically married, to you. So, you see my issue?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully, watching the Minister still trying to crawl away, despite his mangled limb. He had to admit, the man was persistent.

"You gonna get that," Barty asked, looking at the Minister.

Harry shrugged. "He's not going anywhere. We've got the house surrounded. But, to be safe," he waved his wand and the door to the room rebuilt itself and sealed them in. He smirked, hearing a whimper from the older man. "Now, as for your problem, you'll be fine. You've never had a problem finding women to share your bed with, so why should when we get back to England be any different? I mean, I know a few unattached women who we'll be seeing a lot of."

"Oh yeah?" Barty asked, going through the drawers again. "Like who?"

"Oh, you know." Harry hopped down off the table, landing squarely on the Minister's back, forcing him against the floor, hard. "There's Nymphadora, just don't call her that. Only I can do that."

"That's because she's in love with you, remember?" Barty reminded him, holding up a weird paddle-like object with little studs on one side, turning it in front of him in a concerned manner. "What the fucking hell...?" He paused, shook his head, then tossed the object back. "You know what, I don't want to know." He moved to the next drawer.

"You're right," Harry said, speaking of Nymphadora, "Hmm, that might be a problem, yeah. Well, there's Luna." He inwardly cringed, thinking of the petite, dreamy little blonde.

Barty laughed. "Ha, she seems a nice enough girl, but a bit on the young side, don't you think? Besides, she seems kinda fond of that useless wanker we were locked up with."

Harry frowned. "That's never stopped you before. Neither of those reasons, for that matter."

"Now, now," Barty said, looking over at Harry, who was still standing on the Minister's back. He raised a brow but said nothing of the matter. "I do have rules you know. Under a certain age and I just feel like a dirty old man. That, and when there's genuine love and affection involved between a woman and her chosen man, I stay my blade, as it were."

Harry snorted.

"Yeah, you're right, that last one was a lie, but still. She is a bit young, and looks even younger. Fun to flirt with, but not really a place I wanna go. What about your mum?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What about my mum?"

"Well, I'd have to be pretty thick not to see that she's a beautiful woman," Barty clarified.

"I'm not sure I like where you're going with this," Harry stated.

"She was only two years ahead of me at Hogwarts, you know. Not trying to be crude, but she made that uniform look good. That skirt had to be at size too small to show off that much leg." Barty ignored Harry, whose face was going a bit red. "And what nice legs they were too. You know, now that your father is out of the way, maybe I could get to know her a bit better. Now, I know what you're thinking, and no I won't make you call me 'dad', even though it would be hilarious."

"You better stay the fuck away from my mum, Barty!" Harry snapped, cutting off Barty's words.

Barty cackled and waved him off. "Fine, fine. I'll lay off...for now. So, whose next on your list?"

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself and shrugged. "Pansy?"

"Oh, fuck no!" Barty said.

"What's wrong with Pansy?" Harry asked, feeling slightly insulted for the girl. She wasn't a bad person. She at least listened when he told her to stay out of his way. Though, her method of doing so was a bit questionable.

"One," Barty said, holding up a finger as he approached Harry. "She's not but a year older than Luna. Two, I've known her since she was a baby. Three, she has a baby of her own and I am not about to play fucking daddy for Malfoy spawn. Thanks but no thanks. Four, she had a little thing for you back in the day. Five, I've known her since she was a baby. Yes, I know I said that twice. It needed reiteration. That...that's just a line I don't cross."

Harry nodded. "Well, I'm sure that makes you better than this poxy bastard," he said, tapping his foot on the Minister's back. The man groaned in agony. "I'm sure he's had all range of women in here. Probably a few under the age of majority too." He looked thoughtful, but it wasn't a good thought. "Do you think he kept pictures or articles of their clothing or something. Like souvenirs?"

Barty looked almost disgusted. Then again, he was a gentleman with the ladies. "Gods, I hope not. But, then again, I wouldn't put it past him, after that." He pointed at the bed and wrack. "Are those chains?" He asked, looking at something under the bed. "Blimey. Check his desk."

Harry tugged open one of the drawers on the desk after hopping off of Oblansk's back. Barty did the same on the other side of the desk.

After only a moment of searching Barty let out a loud "A-HA!" and pulled out a phial with silvery liquid in it. It was labeled in Cyrillic Script so he could read it but he didn't know Bulgarian so he couldn't say what it meant. Not for the first time, he wished they had been able to learn the language but no one at Nurmengard knew it. German, Russian, French, Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish, English. Those were the languages that Grindelwald knew how to read and speak, having learned them at Durmstrang from his friends, but he had not known any Bulgarians and thus had not learned the language, thus he could not teach it to Harry and the others. German, Russian and French were all that they had had time to learn while there. Learning Russian was how Harry knew how to read Cyrillic.

" _Chastni spomeni_ ," Harry sounded out, frowning. "That first word sounds almost like 'chastity, doesn't it? But that wouldn't make sense. Chastity is the refraining from sexual activity. Probably has a completely different origin and I'm being an ignorant foreigner by guessing. Let's view them. There's got to be a Pensieve around here somewhere." He opened a cabinet behind the desk. "As I said." He picked up the rune-engraved stone bowl and set it on the desk.

Barty looked at the bowl, down at the Minister, who seemed to have lost consciousness, over to the bed, back at the Minister, back to the bowl, then to the memories. "Do we have to?"

Harry nodded, turning and giving the Minister a hard kick in the ribs, causing the man to awake and cry out in pain. "We need to see what this son of a bitch has done that he shouldn't have done." He gave another kick. "Then we use it as an excuse for killing him."

"Why do we need an excuse?"

" _We_ don't, but in order for us to make things better for Igor and Krum we need to completely discredit this filth in the eyes of the populace. Not just the one's who already side with the rebellion, but also those who sided against them. It will make things easier when they take power. It will also throw some unfavorable light at the ICW, who backed this guy."

Barty nodded, understanding. "Right. Oh, this is not gonna be fun."

Barty tipped the memories into the Pensieve after uncorking the phial. Together they plunged in, Harry taking a moment beforehand to stun the Minister, lest he try to escape while they were otherwise occupied.

When they came back out again, Barty immediately turned to the side and retched, heaving the contents of his stomach onto the ornate rug that sat under the desk.

Harry was faring little better as he was paler than usual and had a murderous glint in his eyes. He turned his hard glare onto the unconscious man laying on the floor. What he had seen in there was sickening and at a level that not even Voldemort would have sunk to.

Barty stood upright again, wiping his mouth and chin on his sleeve, still looking a bit green around the gills. He sneered and returned the memories to the phial. "I'll kill that son of a bitch!" he snarled, his voice lower and rougher than usual. "I'll drag him out by his fucking hair and string him up from the fucking trees by his fucking fat neck! Then, when he's just about to die, I'll let him down and do it all over again!"

Harry nodded and walked over to the Minister, kneeling in front of him and reviving him with a wave of his hand.

The older man opened his eyes, blinking groggily. When he saw Harry and the cold expression on his face, his eyes widened. "Minister Oblansk, my name is Harry James Potter, I was born July 31, 1980 in Godric's Hollow, Cornwall to James Fleamont Potter I and Lilly Jenifer Evans. I am the adopted son of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. I am the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, descendant of Ignotius Peverell, Master of the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone. I am former student to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and Gellert Johannes Grindelwald. I am brother to the Hangman and the Raven." All of this was said with a cold, deathly soft voice. "Look at me," he order the man. Oblansk raised his wide eyes to meet Harry's. "Do you know who I am?" The man nodded. "Say my name."

Oblansk swallowed thickly. "You are the Goth of Death," he said, his voice lisping due to his missing teeth.

Harry nodded. "Yes, I am. I am not a kind man, Mr. Oblansk. I am not forgiving and I do not show mercy to those whom I have decided to not deserve it. You, Mr. Oblansk are a hebephile. Do you know what that means? No? Well, allow me to enlighten you. A hebephile is an English word that stems from the ancient Greek word _hebe_ , meaning 'youth', and the Latin word _phila_ , which stems from the Greek _ph_ _í_ _los_ , which means 'beloved' or 'love of'. So, the word hebephile means 'love of youths'. A bit of a misnomer, if you ask me. What you did to those women and children could never in any right be called _love_. That was defilement. Now, you may be wondering why I don't just label you a pedophile and be done with it. Well, it's in the definition. A hebephile is one who has an attraction to youth from the age of eleven to fourteen, while a pedophile is one who is attracted to children aged ten and under. One might try to argue that at least you weren't _that_ bad, but the abuse of children is something that I cannot stomach, in any form. You just happened to choose the worst." He laughed humorless. "You know what the worst part of it all is? It's that they will never remember it. They'll never know what you did to them, because you took that knowledge from them. You probably have some misguided excuse for it too. Something like 'it's better for them if they don't remember it because they'll not have to remember the pain' or some other bullshit reason. But the truth is that you're a coward. You know that what you did was wrong, and you know that if they told anyone you would be done for. You're own daughter was not even safe from you. In fact, she was your favorite wasn't she? That's why you took her friends in here first when they would visit during the summer, then take her last. After that, what did you do, tuck her into bed and kiss her goodnight like nothing had happened, then go to bed with your wife? Yeah, that's what you did, I can see it in you're eyes."

He held his hand up and Barty deposited the phial into his fingers. He held the phial up for Oblansk to see, turning it between his finger. The man's eyes widened further and he turned white as a ghost.

"But, you weren't satisfied with just the deed were you? You had to relive it, again and again when she was away at school or visiting friends. So, you used your memories of the events. You'd view them before having your way with whatever woman you had brought back that night. And you'd think of her while you did those sick things to them. Of course, not all of them came willingly. No, those you used potions or curses to get to comply." He stood up and tucked the phial into his pocket. "You are going to hang for this, Minister. I'll see to it. My brother here, he loves a good hanging. That's how he got his name, you know. Bartemius Galbraith Crouch Jr., more commonly known as Barty Crouch Jr. and the Hangman. I'm sure he's got a tree already picked out for you."

Barty nodded. "Oh, aye. I know just the one. Right in the middle of the town square." He stalked forward and grabbed the man by his shirt front. He got right in his face, snarling. "I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born, you child-raping piece of shit!" With that Barty hauled the man to his feet and dragged him along behind him after his shattered leg gave out under his considerable weight. With a wave of Barty's hand, the secret door opened and he marched out.

Harry followed along behind them, a dark look on his face that left no doubts that bad things were soon to come.

Within the room, which was a study of sorts, Regulus was standing with Malcolm and Karkaroff, his wand floating above his hand and pointing right at them. Barty stomped right past them all, not saying a word, the Minister struggling uselessly in his grasp.

Regulus looked at Harry with concern, seeing that they were both intent on murder at the moment. "Harry, what the devil is going on?"

Harry paused long enough to pull the phial of memories out of his pocket and hold it up for them. Malcolm looked at it and then went into the secret room with Karkaroff following behind. He let Regulus take the phial from him before he followed after Barty, who was already out of the room and making his way down the hallways. A thump, followed by a scream made Harry jog ahead. He turned the corner and peered down the hall to see Barty had switched his hold from the man's shirt to his hair. He had said he was going to drag the man out by his hair and so he was. This new method of dragging forced Oblansk to use his one good leg to push himself up a bit to try and alleviate the intense, sharp pain from having his hair pulled so savagely.

They dragged him from the house, ignoring the looks they were getting from the rebels in the house as well as the handful of captured Aurors as they went.

Outside it was a dark night lit only by wandlight. Harry followed Barty as he continued dragging Oblansk toward the perimeter of the wards.

"HARRY! BARTY! WAIT!"

Harry paused and turned back as Malcolm ran up behind them. Barty stopped too but did not release Oblansk. "What?" Harry asked calmly.

"Where are you taking him?" Malcolm asked, gesturing toward the Minister.

Harry looked at the Minister and then back to Malcolm. "We're going to take him into town and string the bastard up."

Malcolm shook his head, brushing his long hair out of his face with one hand; It had come loose from its tie during the fight, apparently. "You can't just take a public official and kill him," he said. "I don't what he did yet, Regulus and Igor are looking at those memories you gave us, but we're better than this."

Harry shook his head. "We're really not. What he did, he deserves worse than what we're going to do to him, but for the sake of getting us the hell out of this country and getting this war over with, we're going to cut the head from the snake. First Oblansk, then the ICW. You brought us in on this for a reason, and now I'm going to fulfill that reason."

"Daddy?!"

Harry, Malcolm and Barty all turned to see the Minister's daughter running toward them, Krum and Scabior in pursuit. Scabior gained on her quickly and pulled her to a stop. Krum grabbed Scabior and wrenched his hands from Elena and pushed him back with a glare. Scabior snarled in an animalistic manner and glared right back.

"I thought I told you to get her the hell out of here," Barty scolded the snatcher.

Scabior growled. "I tried, but this garden tool here decided to be a tosser and interfere!"

Harry narrowed his eyes at Krum. He knew that the older man didn't like him and what he was about to do would earn him no points in the opposite. "Krum, what reason do you have for preventing Scabior from carrying out his orders?"

Krum opening his mouth to retort but Elena cut in first. "You can't hurt my father!"

Barty cackled. "Calm down, darling. We aren't going to hurt him, we're going to _hang_ him."

"VHAT!" Elena shrieked, running at Barty, intent on attacking him, the fact that she hand no wand and was far weaker than Barty hadn't seemed to cross her mind.

Harry, though, was faster and grabbed the girl by the throat, not squeezing enough to hurt her, just enough to let her know he could. Her eyes widened as they met Harry's. He could see fear there, but not genuine fear. He recalled being in a similar situation with Pansy some time before he went to Hogwarts. He leaned in so that there was barely any space between their faces. "I once knew a girl with the same look in her eyes that you have now. And I'll ask you the same thing I asked her. Do you want to stay alive?" The girl swallowed thickly, then nodded. He could already see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "Now, tell me, what do you see in my eyes? Look at them. What do you see?"

"De...death," she answered.

Harry nodded. "Correct. You see your death. Now, do you know how to avoid that?" A shake of the head. "Would you like to know?" A nod. He leaned in so that his mouth was right next to her ear. "Stay out of my way." He leaned back. "Do you understand?" She nodded again. "Good. Now, do not interfere again. You're father has done terrible things to you. You don't remember it because he stole those memories from you. Now, I cannot restore those memories for you, but I can show them to you, if you wish."

Elena opened her mouth to argue with him, to say that her father had never laid a hand on her, but something about the way he said it stilled her tongue. Finally she shook her head. "I...I vould rather not remember. Vhatever it is...I don't vant to know."

Harry nodded and released her. She immediately moved away from him, true fear in her eyes now.

"OBLANSK!"

"Oh, bloody hell, what now," Barty groaned as they all turned to see Karkaroff and Regulus stalking toward them.

It had been Regulus that had shouted and he marched right over to where Oblansk was still in Barty's grasp and stomped his boot directly into the man's face. Harry heard a snap and noticed that the man's nose had been horribly broken by Regulus' kick. He stomped again and this time Harry heard a leg snap under his eldest brother's wrath.

He made to make another attack but Harry's stern call of "Regulus!" stayed his hand.

Regulus looked over at Harry and Harry shook his head, nodding toward Barty. Regulus nodded back and bent down to get in the Minister's face. "I've killed men for less than what you've done. Count yourself lucky that my brother already has claim on your life, else I would take it from you now."

Malcolm walked over to Harry, Karkaroff having whispered what they had seen into his ear. He was pale and his eyes were hard now too. "Harry," he said softly into the younger man's ear. "Forgive my rudeness earlier. You were right. This man deserves to die. And it shall be done." He raised his voice so that everyone could hear him, even those still in the house. "Tomorrow, at midday, Minister Emil Oblansk will be executed in the square of Trader's Alley. Rejoice men, our victory is in sight!"

Karkaroff echoed the words in Bulgarian for those that didn't understand English. A cheer went up from the rebels and Malcolm motioned for Barty and Harry to follow him.

Malcolm spoke again to Harry and the others. "We'll lock him up at the villa for the night, I'll place a few of my own men to guard him. In the morning, he will die." They passed outside the wards as Regulus, Scabior, Tiberius and Fergus joined them. "Good job, all of you. Now, let's get this swine out of here."

One at a time, they apparated back to the villa.

Barty and Scabior took Oblansk off to be locked up, Malcolm, Tiberius and Fergus went into the house saying something about a drink.

Harry looked at Regulus. "You have those memories?"

Regulus nodded and pulled the phial out of his pocket and pressed it into Harry's hand. "What are you going to do with them?"

Harry smirked. "Make sure everyone sees them. We need the people on our side. This," he held up the phial, "will give us that."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"Oh, I ran into an old friend earlier. I think she'll be able to handle it."

With that, he walked off, drawing his wand and muttering the 'point me' spell and thinking of Luna.

He followed the wand's directions, which brought him to a tent. He didn't even have time to open his mouth to call for Luna before the flap opened and Luna poked her head out, her hair looking quite tousled and fixing her top. "Hello, Harry," she said dreamily, like usual. "My, that's a lot of Wrackspurts you have there."

Harry raised a brow at her. "You have company, Luna?"

She shook her head. "No, just you." Harry gave her a look that said he didn't believe her. "Company in the manner you mean it is someone who comes to visit. That's you. Rolf isn't company, he's my lover."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Really? Well, I'll just have to have a talk with him then." Luna just smiled at him knowingly. He ignored it. "But first, I need you to do something for me." He held up the phial. "These are memories of crimes committed by Minister Oblansk. I need you to write up an article about them, take photos and such, send them to your father and have him print them. We need the public on our side here. And, I also need you to reveal that Barty and I are alive. Can you do that?"

Luna nodded and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a firm hug. He brought one arm up to hug her back. "Yes, Harry. I can do it." She pulled back, still smiling. "You can count on me."

He passed the phial into her hands. "Thank you, Luna. Now, I warn you, what you will see in there will not be easy to watch. Barty vomited after seeing it. I nearly did as well. I'm sorry you have to see it, but this must be done."

Luna shook her head. "I watched my own mother be torn apart by an exploding cauldron with my own eyes, Harry. After that, I don't think there's much that can affect me anymore." Her voice had gone dull and her eyes were blank.

Harry nodded and squeezed the hand that was still holding hers, which was holding the phial. "All the same." He sighed. "Now, send the 'lover' out. I'd like a word with him."

Luna nodded, her smile coming back. "Sure!" She skipped back inside the tent and Harry crossed his arms, waiting,

A moment later, the young man exited the tent, looking quite alarmed. Harry took the short second to study him. His hair was dark and hung down around his neck; his jaw, chin and upper lip bore a layer of long stubble. His eyes were dark as well, nearly black, which gave him a vaguely foreign look.

"So, you are Rolf?" Harry asked, meeting the younger man's dark eyes.

Rolf nodded. "Rolf Scamander," he held out his hand for Harry to shake. "A pleasure to meet you. Luna has spoken very highly of you."

Harry ignored the hand. "Scamander? As in Newt Scamander?" Rolf nodded. Well, that explained why Harry got a very light 'foreign' feel from him. Newt Scamander, he recalled, had married a Goldstein, a German-Jewish Wizarding family.

"He's my grandfather," Rolf clarified.

Harry nodded. "Right, so tell me, Rolf, what makes you think you are worthy to date my friend?"

Rolf raised a dark brow. "Pardon?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, making the other man shrink back from him slightly, but he managed to maintain eye-contact, which Harry noted as a plus for him. "Understand, Luna is a dear friend. She means a lot to me. She is _precious_ to me. And, as such, I value her well-being. You no doubt know of my reputation, so I don't need to tell you that anyone who hurts her will suffer my wrath. Now, answer my question."

Rolf swallowed and blinked but still did not look away. Another plus. "Honestly, I consider myself the lucky one here. I am not very good at fighting and completely rubbish at most forms of magic. However, I am good with Magical Creatures. I, that is, I don't really know about worthy but I care very much for Luna, I might even go so far as to say that I love her. Sure, she says some things and believes in some things that most would find odd or even completely ludicrous, but I find it fascinating. We already proved one of her 'imaginary' creatures to be real, so I learned long ago not to doubt her. She's amazing, really. I mean, just the other day, before we got captured, she saved me from a rampaging Graphorn; luckily we were able to subdue it without harming it, since they're highly endangered. And last month, she found a Hydra hiding a cave in Greece. They're supposed to be extinct, but she found one!"

Rolf went on singing Luna's praised and Harry was actually growing mildly amused by it, especially since it seemed the boy didn't even realize that he was kind of rambling.

His soft chuckle brought Rolf to a halt in mid-sentence. "What's so funny?"

Harry smirked at him. "I've heard enough. I've made my decision." Rolf suddenly looked serious and his stance showed no small amount of worry. "I'll let you live, for now. But, just know, if you hurt Luna, I will call my friend Charlie and we'll take turns making you wish you were dead. And then, once every bone in your body has been broken and your flesh peeled from your body, I'll cut you to pieces, little by little, healing you as I go so that you don't bleed out on me, then we'll feed those pieces to a dragon." He stepped forward. "Got it?"

Rolf nodded stiffly and swallowed.

Harry nodded and smiled. "Cheer up. It most likely won't happen. Luna would kill you first, before I had the chance to."

The rustle of the tent flap drew both of their attention. Luna stepped out with a faraway look in her eyes and Rolf immediately was at her side. "Are you all right, love?"

Luna nodded and looked at Harry. "You were right. It is hard to watch. Don't worry, though. I'll make sure everyone knows what he's done."

Harry nodded. He looked at Rolf. "You take care of her." He squeezed Luna's shoulder comfortingly and gave her a soft smile of thanks before moving away. He had only taken two steps before he paused and looked back. "We're hanging the Minister tomorrow at noon in the magical market square in Sofia. You both should be there. It'll be a hell of a story."

 **XXXX**

There was quite a crowd gathered in Trader's Alley, or _Targovetsa Aleya_ , as it was called in the native tongue.

Harry looked out over the mass of people with a mild expression. There was a lot of shouting going on and more than a few fights had already broken out. The crowd, it seemed, was divided between those who supported the Ministry and those who supported the Sons of Independence. There were more of the latter though, from what he could see.

Regulus stood at his side and Fergus was on the far side of Regulus. Malcolm and Tiberius were with Karkaroff and Krum, leading an assault on the Ministry itself. Of course, most of the Aurors were here, and already subdued, so they should have an easy time of it.

"Well, this is quite the turnout," Fergus drawled, chewing a piece of gum and wearing a pair of expensive-looking muggle sunglasses. "All the little doggies out and baying for blood. Isn't it adorable?"

Regulus snorted. "You're a very pleasant person, you know that, Fergus. Could you be a bit more condescending? I don't think you've let us know how you really feel on the matter."

Fergus shrugged casually. "What can I say? I'm a man of many talents. Don't get me wrong though, I fully support what we're doing here, I just think I'd rather be with Mal and Tiber, they're having all of the fun. That, and I hate people."

"Not really," Regulus said. "You got to fight the Aurors."

Fergus looked at the Aurors all held in their own magic-suppressing cuffs. He slid his sunglasses down his nose a bit and peered over them at the Aurors. "Those were Aurors?" He pushed his glasses back up and faced forward again. "I thought they were some squibs with fake wands taking their game of Aurors and Death Eaters a bit too seriously. My mistake."

Harry smirked after hearing this. He chuckled. "Well, I'm sure they felt that way, what with you apparating around all over the place. It was like a one-sided game of Wizard's Chess with you ignoring all of the rules."

Fergus shrugged again. "Rules are for losers, and made to be broken. If you ever find yourself in a fair fight, your tactics are shite."

Regulus nodded. "Well, then, our tactics must be quite remarkable because this war was terribly one-sided. It's only been a three days."

"Shortest war on record only lasted forty-five minutes," Fergus said. "We could have done that, but Tiber was set on not staying in the city. If we had just attacked the Ministry directly, we could have ended this in twenty minutes, tops."

"No use lamenting that now," Harry said, seeing Barty and Scabior appear with their victim between them. "The show's about to begin."

Barty shoved the Minister to the ground in front of the tree they had selected for the hanging. The crowd cheered as they saw them, but Barty ignored them and conjured a rope, tying a noose and fastening it around the Minister's neck.

Harry noticed a couple of flashes and saw Rolf snapping photos with his camera while Luna was at his side scribbling in her notepad. As he looked, Rolf turned the camera toward Harry and Regulus, snapping a photo of them. By this time tomorrow, the whole world would know that Harry Potter, Barty Crouch Jr, and Regulus Black were all alive and well.

He hoped Hermione wasn't too upset with him not contacting her. It had been years already and he felt terrible about it, but it was for the best.

" _Into our town the Hangman came,_ " Barty's voice rang out through the square, making the crowd go silent. He tossed the rope over a strong-looking branch and caught it, giving a sharp tug to make sure it was secured. " _Smelling of gold and blood and flame. And he paced our bricks with a diffident air, and built his frame on the courthouse square_."

He began pulling, lifting the Minister into the air, where he started choking, his legs kicking as he fought. His hands were not bound, but Barty had broken his fingers and he could not even grip the rope, let alone get himself free. When he was a sufficient height, Barty conjured a platform under him, letting the Minister stand atop it.

" _The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,_ " he went on. " _Only as wide as the door was wide. A frame as tall, or a little more, than the capping sill of the courthouse door._ " He tied off the rope to a spike he conjured and stabbed into the ground. " _And we wondered, whenever we had the time, who the criminal, what the crime, that Hangman judged with the yellow twist of knotted hemp in his busy fist._ "

He had left a bit of slack so that the Minister was not choking as he stood atop the platform on shoddily-healed legs.

" _And innocent though we were, with dread, we passed those eyes of buckshot lead; Till one cried 'Hangman, who is he for whom you raised the gallows tree?'_ " Barty drew his wand and pressed it against the side of one of the platform's support beams and he looked out over the crowd, who were hanging on his every word, all silent save for a few whispers as some translated for friends or family that didn't understand English. " _Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye, and he gave us a riddle instead of reply: 'He who serves me best,' said he, 'shall earn the rope on the gallows tree._ "

With that, he vanished the platform and the Minister fell, only to stop after a few feet, the rope snapping taut and cutting off his airway. The crowd cheered as this happened and Barty grinned madly as he watched the Minister struggle and kick, his face rapidly going red and then purple. After a moment or two, the kicking and twitching stopped and the face went blue, arms falling limp to the sides, bloodshot eyes bulging and tongue protruding grotesquely from between blue lips.

Minister Oblansk was dead.

Barty walked over to stand beside Harry, Scabior taking position on Barty's far side, leaving Harry in the middle with two men on either side of him. More and more flashes appeared as Rolf and a handful of others continued taking photos.

"Well," Fergus said, looking out over the cheering crowd, who had taken to throwing rotten produce at the hanging corpse of Oblansk. "It would seem they approve of our production."

Barty barked a laugh. "Oh, I do believe it was some of my finest work. I don't know how I'll top it."

Harry smiled. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Just remember, quality over quantity."

Barty nodded. "Aye. I don't plan to go around hanging everyone we meet. It's a special thing. Sort of like that bourbon that Malcolm keeps in that flask. He only brings it out for special moments, the rest of the time he just drinks whatever Tiberius gives him."

"Are we seriously comparing hanging people to Firewhiskey?" Regulus asked.

"It is a bit morbid, I suppose," Scabior said, not sounding bothered in the least.

"I think it's beautiful," Fergus said, still chewing his gum.

Regulus groaned. "Am I the only sane one here?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"You're just like us," Barty added in after Harry. "Maybe worse."

Regulus raised a brow. "How do you figure that?"

Barty grinned madly. "Two words: banging Bella."

Harry burst out laughing and Regulus went red in the face. "That was one time!" Barty and Harry just kept laughing, ignoring Regulus' every attempt to defend himself. Finally he just scowled and muttered, "I hate you both."

They only laughed harder.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Sorry it took so long.**

 **Another chapter down. A bit dark but that's pretty much par for the course with these stories. Let me know what you think.**

 **Now, I think I should address that last bit. Yes, I did just imply that Regulus had sex with Bellatrix. In his defense he was drunk and Barty had a hand in things going that direction. Further in his defense, Pureblood families are known for inbreeding to keep bloodlines pure. This was bad but not the worst that's happened I'm sure. Don't judge Reggie too harshly for it.**

 **I have to say though, that I really love writing the banter between the brothers. It's so fun to do. Next chapter will have some Hermione and maybe some Robards and Tonks in it. Some Lily too.**

 **Don't worry, I intend to have Harry and co. back in England within the next two-three chapters.**

 **Leave me some feedback, it keeps me motivated.**

 **Until next time,**

 **I Am Atrocity.**


	15. He's Back

**A/N: RIP Robert Hardy, AKA Minister For Magic Cornelius Fudge.**

 **XV. He's Back**

Hermione stretched under her sheets and moaned softly as she felt her muscles protest the movement before loosening as she relaxed. She had worked late the night before, closing up the pub with Marryn, cleaning and restocking and all that. It was Sunday today, and she had the day off. She was thankful for that.

Work at the pub had been difficult the last week or so as Malcolm was away in Europe on 'personal business' and wouldn't be back for at least another week yet.

She turned her head and glanced at the clock on her bedside table and sighed. She needed to get up. Hugo was always an early riser and she needed to make breakfast. Lily would be getting up soon too, she knew. It was early yet, only seven-thirty, she had slept only three hours.

With that in mind, she sat up in the bed and ran a hand through her messy hair, tossing the covers back and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

She stood up and wandered into her bathroom, locking the door behind her and stripping off her nightie and knickers before turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature to where it was comfortable.

After washing herself thoroughly, she toweled off and wrapped herself in a soft white robe before venturing out to get ready for the day. She dressed slowly, her body aching from being on her feet for about thirteen hours the previous day, and dried and brushed her hair with a wave of her hand and small gust of magic.

She didn't bother with but a light layer of magically-applied makeup; she didn't need to impress anyone, since she was still single and all. She had briefly tried dating again last year, but that had ended in disaster after one date, so she had given the whole thing up as a lost cause. It had been a pureblood bloke who didn't recognize her name until the middle of dinner. Seemed no one wanted to get involved with the former lover of the God of Death, and mother to a son who was already being called the Son of Death and the Heir to the Demon, whichever they saw fit to use at the time. It was utterly ridiculous as far as Hermione was concerned. One side thought that he would grow up to be an evil wizard while the other side were wondering if he would be as great as his father had been during his short time.

There was only one problem with both of those: Hugo was a squib.

That's right, the son of Harry Potter, the God of Death, and Hermione Granger, the Smartest Witch of a Generation, was born without magical abilities. Not many knew that, though. Only Hermione, Lily, Fleur and Pansy knew. Well, and Scorpius and Victoire, Hugo's only friends, they knew as well. Scorpius and Victoire had had cases of accidental magic from infancy, but Hugo? Not so much as a toy moving on its own or something breaking during a tantrum, which was a rare thing in and of itself.

Hugo was not a child prone to outbursts of anger or upset. He was quiet and reserved, polite and gentle. He preferred to stay in his room and read or sit outside under the tree and eat the nuts that fell from it while watching the clouds and listening to the birds. Where Scorpius liked to be active and very outgoing, Hugo was an introvert. Where Victoire was all smiles and liked to laugh, Hugo kept his expression calm and just listened to her do all of the talking.

Hermione worried for her son. He didn't have any other friends and she was afraid that when it came time to attend school, he'd be like she was before she went to Hogwarts; an outcast. Of course, since he had no magic, he'd not even get to go to Hogwarts at all.

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter was finished as a magical family. At least for a generation. There was always a chance that any kids Hugo may have could be magical. Or they could be muggles.

She shook those thoughts from her head and left her room, walking down the hall to where Hugo's room was. It had originally been the nursery but when he got too big for a crib, she had converted the room into a bedroom for him. The ravens on the wall remained though, as did their original function.

She knocked softly, then pushed the door open, peering inside. She could see Hugo sitting on the bench by the window, which was open, letting the cool morning breeze and the sound of birdsong into the room. He had a book open in his lap and his hazel-green eyes roamed across the page at a quick but leisurely pace, his wavy brown hair falling down to frame his face; he wore it longer, just as Harry had toward the end. He looked up when he heard her clear her throat. "Yes, mum?" he asked in his soft voice.

"Just seeing if you were awake," she said, smiling at him. There was the smallest upturn of the corners of his mouth as he returned her smile with a barely-there one of his own. "'I'm about to start breakfast, are you hungry?"

Hugo shook his head. "Not really. Do I need to eat?"

Hermione nodded. "You should. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. You can't just sit outside and eat nuts all day."

Hugo nodded and closed his book, setting it aside and dropping down from the bench. He was already dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a plain white shirt. He, in contrast to Scorpius, preferred white over black clothing. It was also in contrast to what Harry had always worn.

Hermione led the way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was surprised to see Lily already there, taking the kettle off the fire and pouring the boiling water into the teapot. "Good morning, Lily," Hermione greeted, making the older woman look up from her task.

"Oh, good morning, Hermione," she smiled. "I didn't expect you to be up already. I heard you come in pretty late last night."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I'm awake, so there was no point in staying in bed if I wasn't going to be sleeping."

Hugo climbed into a chair at the table and waited, his hands clasped in his lap. It was scary sometimes, how mature he acted for his age. He was only just five years old but he acted like his father did sometimes. No child that age was that calm and patient. Scorpius and Victoire certainly weren't, though Scorpius was the worst of the lot in that regard.

Hermione set about getting some eggs out of the fridge to scramble for their meal. Looking the contents of the fridge over, she made a mental note to make a run to the super market within the next few days. She poured a small glass of milk for Hugo, setting it on the table in front of him, taking just a second to run her fingers through his hair affectionately as she walked back to the counter to begin cracking the eggs.

"So, how was work?" Hermione asked Lily, who was now making toast.

Lily shrugged. "Uneventful. Still working on that Pensieve for Arnold."

Hermione nodded. Lily did a lot of things with her shop. She not only 'enchanted' items, which was a fancy way of saying that the put charms on them that would not wear off for at least a hundred years or so. She also made Pensieves, which took quite a bit of Runework combined with spellwork to get right. They were difficult to make, and thus they were expensive. However, Lily gave special rates to their friends, and though he had come in late to the party, Arnold Peasegood was a friend to them. He had lost his family to a Death Eater 'blooding ceremony' and Harry had recruited him right before the battle at Malfoy Manor. After Harry was locked up, he had ceased his work as an Obliviator for the Ministry and became a freelance Hit-Wizard; sort of like an old-school bounty hunter in the muggle world. They tracked and hunted wanted criminals, either killed or captured them, and turned them over to the Auror Office for a reward. From what she heard, Arnold was pretty good at it.

"How is Arnold these days? Haven't heard much from him in a while?" Hermione asked. Truth be told, none of them had seen him for months.

"Don't know. Last time I saw him, he was getting ready to go to the continent. Some wanted murderer in Paris he wanted to take down. Supposedly has a three thousand galleon prize on his head, dead or alive. Can't recall the name though." Lily thought for a second, then shook her head. "Can't remember. Oh, well. Oh, before I forget, Pansy called yesterday."

Hermione frowned. "What for?"

"She wanted to see if you would watch Scorpius for her tomorrow. She's got to go to London for some business at Gringotts and Scorpius is frightened of the Goblins."

Hermione glanced at the little tack board they had in the kitchen to see what her work schedule was for Monday. It was another day off, since they weren't opening until after lunch and Marryn and Ella were covering the evening. She had to work Tuesday though, since that was Ella's day off. Poor Marryn didn't get any days off while Malcolm was away. She took it in stride though, seeing as she was going to open her own pub once she had saved enough to purchase one and get it off the ground. She saw it as good practice.

"Yeah, I can do that," Hermione said. "Around what time does she need me to go and get him?"

"I don't know. She's just down the street, maybe you can walk down there later and ask her," Lily said, shrugging.

"Are you working today?" Hermione inquired, now plating the eggs.

Lily shook her head. "No, not today."

"Well, I need to make a run to the market later, do you mind watching Hugo?"

"Not at all," Lily replied, smiling at her 'daughter-in-law', then over at her grandson.

They set the plates down on the table and Hermione was about to sit down when there was a tapping on the window. Hermione glanced up and saw the owl that delivered the Quibbler sitting there on the sill. She went over and let the bird in, grabbing a knut from a box they kept there in the kitchen for that purpose and stuffed it in the small leather pouch tied to the owl's leg.

The owl flew off and Hermione unrolled the newspaper. Then, her knees gave out and she dropped to the flow, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging slack. There was a scrape of a chair as Lily saw her go down and rushed to her side. Hugo was a bit slower in getting down but he was looking at her with fear in his eyes. "Mum, what's wrong?"

Hermione turned her head to look at her son, tears gathering in the corner of eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She tried again but got the same result. A gasp was heard and she looked at Lily, who had taken the paper up and saw the headline. Tears were rolling down her cheeks while one hand covered her mouth.

"It's real then?" Hermione rasped. "I didn't just imagine it?"

Lily shook her head and gathered Hermione up in a hug. "No, it's really there. It's really there."

Hugo frowned at the display before him and tugged the paper out of his grandmother's hand, reading the front page headline.

 **THE BOY WHO LIVED RETURNS!**

 **The God of Death and Hangman Live!**

 **By Luna Lovegood (Photos by Rolf Scamander)**

 **Harry James Potter, the God of Death, and Barty Crouch Jr., the Hangman, have been believed dead for four years after their bodies were discovered in their cells in Azkaban prison. However, this appears to have been a ruse, as this reporter found out first hand in Bulgaria yesterday. In a display of great tactical skill and power, Potter and Crouch infiltrated the home of ICW-appointed Bulgarian Minister for Magic Emil Oblansk and took the man captive, turning him over to the Bulgarian National Mages Party-supported Sons of Independence.**

 **Following the capture of Oblansk, evidence was found within his office that showed him engaging in several illegal activities, not the least of which was sexually assaulting his own daughter, Elena Oblansk, then Obliviating her of the experience. At least ten other women have been similarly assaulted by Oblansk, ages ranging from 11 to 16, with Pensieve evidence to support the accusations.**

 **Rather than turn Oblansk over to the ICW, who would undoubtedly try to sweep the whole matter under the rug and appoint a new Minister in his place, the Sons of Independence saw fit to dispense with their own form of justice. At noon yesterday, Barty Crouch Jr. executed Oblansk by hanging, the event overseen by Potter and three other wizards, one of whom has been identified as a British national known only as Scabior and another identified as Regulus Arcturus Black, a former Death Eater long believed killed by Voldemort himself several years before the end of the war. As for the identity of the fifth man is as of yet unknown. This reported witnessed this historical event first-hand and as one can see clearly in the photos provided, this is not a hoax like so many other Harry Potter sighting these last few years have been.**

 **Reports from locals in the Magical District of Sofia say that Potter and Crouch also participated in the Battle of Trader's Alley a couple of days ago, where they appeared in full Death Eater regalia (picture on page three).**

 **It is not yet know what this return means for our world, but this reporter is certainly curious to see what our past heroes and saviors will do next. (For more information, see: BULGARIAN MINISTRY FALLS TO REBELS on page 3-4)**

Hugo gazed down at the photo provided of the man that was claimed to be his father. Looking at him, he could easily see the resemblance. From their hair to their faces. He studied the picture curiously. His father was standing in the center of a line of five men, his hair was long and his face cleanly shaven. He was looking forward, then he would turn his head to the side and listen to something said, then look down again laughing. The image played in a continuous loop. He was dressed in a magical-style suit with what appeared to be grey trousers, a white shirt, grey waistcoat, black tie and a long grey coat with black boots. With that attire, he'd look right at home in nineteenth century and early twentieth century muggle culture.

After taking it all in, it dawned on him that this was his father, who was supposed to be dead. Why wasn't he dead? What was going on? None of this made sense to him, even as smart as he was for his age, this was beyond his understanding.

"Mum, why is dad in the paper?" he asked, looking at his mother and grandmother for an answer.

Hermione pulled back from her hug with Lily and wiped her eyes. "I don't know, baby, let me see the paper. I haven't read it yet."

Hugo crawled into her lap and held it up for her. She took it, wrapping an arm around him. She read the article out loud so that Lily could listen. She had to pause a few times as she got a bit choked up but by the end of it, she was looking a bit disappointed.

Lily took the paper from her, flipping through to read about the Ministry's fall, giving Hermione a sympathetic look while saying, "I'm sure he had his reasons, honey."

Hermione nodded mutely and hugged Hugo closer to her. Why hadn't Harry contacted her? He had been alive the whole time, for four long years, and hadn't contacted her once. Had he even thought about her at all?

Then, suddenly she went cold, remembering the incident four years ago when she had thought she heard Harry's voice through the baby monitor.

He had been there. He had really been there, somewhere in the room with her, she was sure of it. He had been there, but stayed silent and hidden. Why?

"I need to go to London today," she said after a long moment of silence.

Lily looked up from the paper, tearing her eyes from the image of Igor Karkaroff, Viktor Krum and two hooded figures, whose faces were magically shrouded, standing in the Ministry of Magic after having defeated the few Aurors that remained there. The Ministry had been counting on ICW support, but they had fallen before said support could arrive. The ICW wasn't even set to convene to discuss that matter for another week.

"What for?" Lily asked.

Hermione swallowed. "I need to talk to Xeno. And Luna, if she's there."

She stood up after lifting Hugo off of her lap. She leaned down and kissed her little boy on top of the head. "Be good for Grandma Lily. I'll be back soon."

With that she marched to the fireplace and threw floo powder into it, calling out for the Quibbler Offices, before stepping into the emerald flames and vanishing.

 **XXXX**

In a flat in Coventry, Nymphadora Tonks had just read the same article that Hermione had. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart and get her muddled thoughts in order.

She had been doing so well. She really had. She had just started to get where thinking about Harry didn't feel like a knife in her chest, but now, all of that hard work and telling herself that she had to move on was for naught, as the bandage was ripped away and the wound reopened to bleed anew.

She looked at the picture on the paper's front page and felt tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back furiously. She would not cry. She refused to. Then, the saw the image of Harry laugh at something Barty had said and she lost it, tears rolling freely down her face and a small gasp escaping her lips.

With a sigh, she wiped her eyes, and took another deep breath. This changed nothing, she reminded herself. Harry would still love Hermione and he still had a child with her that he didn't even know about. She had never told him about Hugo during her visits. It wasn't like she didn't want to tell him, but she knew that telling him would do him no favors. There was no escaping Azkaban and the knowledge that he had a son out there who needed him while he was locked up would have torn him apart. That, and it wasn't her place to say anything. She wasn't his lover, and she certainly wasn't the mother of his child, so she had no right to be the one to tell him about it all. That was Hermione's job, and she would do that when Harry came back to them.

She glanced at the clock, breaking herself out of those gloomy thoughts and grimaced. She didn't have to work that day, but she did have a lunch planned with her mother in London in a few hours. She figured she'd go early and get some things in Diagon Alley beforehand, since she'd be in the area anyway.

She tossed the paper down with a final glance at Harry's picture, then grabbed her long black, hooded coat off the hook by the door and apparated to Diagon Alley.

She started making her way down to the apothecary to pick up some potion ingredients so that she could restock her supply of healing potions at home. She, more often than not, did not have time to go to the hospital after getting back from an assignment so she had, like most Aurors, taken to making her own medical supplies. She was running low on pain-relieving potions. And now, with Harry back in the world of the living, she had a feeling she was going to need them, and probably some blood-replenishing potions.

It was as she was passing the Offices of the Quibbler that she noticed Hermione. She could see her through the window, having a very animated conversation with Xeno. She thought about going inside and seeing how her friend was taking the news, but thought that maybe she shouldn't. She turned to keep walking and bumped right into someone, sending them to the ground with a yelp.

Tonks' eyes widened as she realized who she had just knocked down. "Oh, Luna, I'm so sorry. I'm so clumsy. Here, let me help you up!" She took Luna's hands and pulled the smaller girl back to her feet. The smile never left Luna's face. "Are you all right?" Tonks asked.

Luna nodded and waved her wand, her ink, quills and notebooks flying back into her arms. "Oh, I'm quite fine, thank you. Were you here to speak with Daddy too?"

Tonks blinked. "What?"

Luna pointed to Hermione inside. "I could tell she was there. She's here for answers about Harry being alive. Are you here for the same thing? Maybe you aren't. You were going to but didn't because you're trying to hide how you feel about Harry from Hermione because you're afraid that she'll hate you for it."

Tonks felt her cheeks burning at Luna's rather blunt declaration. "H-how do you know that?"

Luna looked down, looking a bit upset. "Sorry, I can't help it sometimes. I didn't mean to look at your thoughts, Tonks."

Tonks waved that off. She recalled Harry having mentioned once that Luna had some ability with mind magics. "It's all right, Luna. You didn't mean to do it, so I'm not mad. Now, what where you saying? You think I, what? That I love Harry?"

Luna smiled. "I know you do. I saw it." She tapped the side of her head knowingly. "I think you should talk to Hermione about it. I think she'd understand. She isn't a jealous person, you know. Plus, she cares for her friends." Luna took Tonks by the hand and pulled her along with her into the Quibbler Office, ignoring Tonks' protests.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward them as the bell above the door rang at their entrance. Hermione, Xeno and Rolf were all inside, the latter of the three sitting at a reception desk, trying his best to stay of the discussion going on behind him.

He looked right at Luna. "Love, she's been asking for you. I think you should tell her."

Luna smiled at him and nodded, skipping over to Hermione, still tugging Tonks behind her.

Xeno greeted Luna fondly before walking over to Rolf and suggesting he change their sign to 'closed' for the duration of this little visit. Rolf did just that without hesitation.

"Luna!" Hermione exclaimed, practically diving toward her oldest friend. "Luna, please, you have to tell me what happened! How can Harry still be alive? Are you sure it was him? It isn't some trick? He's really back?"

Luna blinked owlishly with her large luminous silver eyes. "Oh course he is, Hermione. I think I'd know if it was Harry or not. I _saw_ it in his eyes."

Hermione stared at her for a long moment before her mouth formed into an open-mouthed smile. She let out a small, breathy laugh. "He's alive! Ha! He's alive! Tell me, did he seem alright? Did he say when he was coming back?" Her smile dimmed a bit. "Did he say why he didn't contact me?"

Luna shook her head. "He didn't say when exactly and he didn't say anything about why he didn't contact you, but before I left he did give me a message for you."

"A message?" Hermione echoed. "What message?"

Luna reached inside her pocket and withdrew a folded letter with the name _Hermione_ written in Harry's sharp, untidy scrawl. Hermione took it from her friend's hand with trembling fingers. She ran her fingertips over her name, feeling the slight indention were the pen had pressed into the thick parchment.

Slowly, she unfolded the letter and looked at the words inside, not reading them, just looking at them, taking them in, letting her mind wrap itself around the fact that she was holding physical proof of Harry's continued existence in her shaking hands.

Finally, she began to read.

 _ **My Dearest Hermione,**_

 _ **I know that this is coming four years later than it should have, and I hope to whatever gods exist that it is not four years too late. I know that no reason I can give will excuse me from my crime, but I hope that at the end of this letter you will still love me the way you did before.**_

 _ **As you have likely learned by now, I did not die in Azkaban. I was rescued from that fate by Regulus and others, whom I shall not name here, for the safety of both them and their families. Barty and I both awoke in an unfamiliar place and met with unfamiliar faces, and I was actually surprised that I was still alive.**_

 _ **I wanted to come home to you then, but I could not. Not only was I not allowed to, I was needed elsewhere. It is not an excuse, but it is as it was. I did visit Godric's Hollow briefly before leaving England. I saw our son. You named him Hugo, after your grandfather, I presume. I look forward to meeting him when I return. Hopefully, when I come back, we can be a family. A proper family. I saw you that night too. I saw you and it took every bit of my power not to go to you and take you into my arms. I have thought of you everyday since waking from what I thought was death, and as much as it hurts me to be away from you so long, especially in this manner, with you not even knowing that I was alive, I feel that I am doing something that will help us in the future. What I am doing here, it is a cause that though it is not mine, I do believe in it. I didn't at first, but after so long, it would be hard not to.**_

 _ **I have learned much in my time abroad. I have had a new teacher, whom I will tell you all about when I return, if you want to hear it. If you will still have me.**_

 _ **We are nearing the end of this stretch, and I hope I will be back upon English soil within the month. Do not hold too much hope in that regard though, my love, as you know fate has a way of never letting me have any peace. I suppose it is true what they say: there is no rest for the wicked.**_

 _ **Well, I must be ending this now. Tell mum that I look forward to seeing her again. Tell Hugo that I love him and I will see him soon. Tell Pansy that she better not try to hide that little blonde beast of hers from me when I return. I will be wanting to speak with her and him. Tell Luna, who will be delivering this, that I said thank you again, and to tell Rolf that my promise still stands, even a continent away. Tell Tonks that I know why she didn't tell me about Hugo. And tell her that I am sorry. She'll understand.**_

 _ **Now, finally, my dearest Hermione, tell yourself that everything is going to be OK.**_

 _ **I love you.**_

 _ **-Harry**_

Hermione smiled at a small sketch of the Sign of the Deathly Hallows beside Harry's name. He was really alive.

She let out a particularly girly squeal and pounced, giving Luna a patented bone-crushing Hermione Hug. She released the smaller girl, who looked a bit relieved then pounced on Tonks, giving her the same treatment.

"Tonks, he's back!" She said in the other girl's ear, still holding tightly to her. Tonks could feel tears dampening her shoulder through her shirt and thin coat. "He's really back."

Tonks nodded, wrapping her arms around Hermione in return. "Yeah. Yeah, he is. I'm so happy for you." And she was. She really was. But, a part of her still cried out in pain at the thought that she herself was still denied her happy ending while everyone else seemed to have found theirs. Fleur had Bill, Luna had Rolf, Hermione had Harry. Her? She had no one.

"He wanted me to tell you that he understood why you never mentioned Hugo to him," Hermione whispered in her ear, her voice a bit thick with emotion. He swallowed. "He asked me to tell you that he's sorry." Tonks nodded sadly. "I'm sorry too, Tonks. I know you love him too, and while part of me is jealously protective, mostly I'm just sad. I can't imagine how you must feel right now."

Tonks had stiffened when Hermione said so surely that she knew about her feelings for Harry. Hearing the rest, she counted herself lucky that she was not on the receiving end of a powerful curse. "I'm sorry too," she murmured back.

"Why?" Hermione asked, still holding tight to the older girl, her head resting on Tonks' shoulder with Tonks' head doing the same on hers. Luna and the others had wondered off, giving them a moment of privacy that Luna sensed they both needed.

Tonks sniffed. "Because I shouldn't have these feelings. He's your lover, Hermione. He's the father of your child. And me? What right have I to love him as I do?"

Hermione sighed. "Tonks, you can't help who you fall in love with. I couldn't, you couldn't. The fact that we both ended up loving the same man was just...bad luck, I guess."

"Not for you, it wasn't," Tonks reminded her. "He chose you after all."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Like you said, we can't help who we fall in love with. If we couldn't, what makes you think Harry could?"

Hermione nodded sadly and gave the older girl a comforting squeeze.

Hermione leaned back from the hug and wiped the tears from Tonks' cheeks. Tonks blushed lightly at this action, her eyes closing briefly at the sensation of soft fingers on her skin, and when she opened them it was to find Hermione smiling at her.

"Hey, it'll be all right," she said, as if she really believed it.

Tonks nodded back, not being able to think of anything to say following that little display of affection from the younger woman, her romantic 'rival'.

Once she did get her voice under control, she asked, "How did you know?"

"What?" Hermione asked impishly. "That you have feelings for Harry? Honey, I've known that for four years now." At Tonks confused expression she added, "You are quite honest and open when you're drunk."

Tonks flushed again, looking rather embarrassed. "You...you said I didn't make a fool of myself that night!"

Hermione giggled. "You _didn't_ make a fool of yourself. You just got a bit emotional and let slip that you wished you'd told Harry you loved him, just once."

"I said that?"

Hermione nodded.

Tonks groaned. "How do you not hate me?"

Hermione shrugged. "Why would I hate you? You're my friend. You're Harry's friend. You were there with him to the end, when even I wasn't. Sure, I didn't have much a choice in the matter as Barty and Regulus insisted that I not be in the manor when Harry faced Voldemort, but you, you were in the room with him at the end. You've proven your loyalty, Tonks. That alone is reason enough not to hate you."

Tonks nodded, decided it was best not to argue.

"Do you want me to hate you?" Hermione asked with a raised brow.

Tonks shook her head rapidly. "No! Not at all. I'm just trying to wrap my head around it." She took a deep breath. "For the record, I didn't tell him about Hugo for several reasons. Sure, part of it was jealousy but...I didn't want to make it harder on him, you know? Learning that, and being able to do nothing about it, it would have torn him apart." Hermione nodded. "I mean, there is no escaping Azkaban...except that Harry did. But how? And if they aren't dead, then who the hell were those bodies we found?" Her eyes went wide. "Oh."

Hermione frowned. "Oh? What? What's wrong?"

Tonks absently slipped Hermione's hands off of her and ran a hand through her hair. It was all making so much sense now. "The bodies...the missing persons...oh, Merlin, I need to talk to Gawain! I think I just figured out the answer to a pair of unsolved cases from four years ago!"

"Well, you can't go rushing off to work on your day off!" Hermione reasoned, stopping the older witch short. "Do you even know he's at the office?"

Tonks shook her head. "No, he had the day off too."

Hermione nodded. "Do you know where he lives?"

Tonks shook her head. "Somewhere in Wales, near Swansea, I think. I don't know exactly. I've never been to his house."

Hermione smiled. "Then it can wait until tomorrow. Come on, you're coming to lunch at my house. Lily has the day off too. We'll have some female bonding time!"

Tonks was about to agree before she remembered why she was in Diagon Alley to begin with. "Sorry, Hermione, I can't. I need to do some shopping and then I'm meeting mum for lunch. How about I swing through for dinner instead?"

Hermione accepted this readily. "All right. That sounds fine. I need to talk to Pansy today anyway. I might invite her too, is that okay?"

Tonks nodded. "Yeah, sure. I haven't seen her in a while. How are she and Scorpius?"

"They're well. I'm supposed to look after Scorpius tomorrow anyway while she comes to London for personal business at the bank. That's what I need to talk to her about." She sighed. "I should probably get back home. Lily and Hugo are waiting for me."

Tonks and Hermione hugged one more time before they went their separate ways, Tonks out the door and Hermione to the floo.

Tonks wanted to believe that everything would be all right, just as Hermione said, but she couldn't help but be cynical in that regard. She shook her head and pushed those thoughts out of her mind. She still needed to get to the apothecary and get those potion ingredients and she had lost a good chunk of time already. She hoped her mother wasn't too annoyed; she was going to be late for lunch.

 **XXXX**

In a cottage outside of Swansea, Gawain Robards was already awake, the prophet and the Quibbler sitting in front of him on the kitchen table. The Prophet, it seemed, was a bit out of the loop as the front page bore some story about the ICW planning to meet to discuss the Bulgaria situation, while the Quibbler was announcing the return of Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr., and going into great detail about what was possibly the shortest Wizarding War in history. The Ministry had fallen in just three and a half days.

Of course, it was the fact that Harry and Barty were apparently still alive that had him worried. It was them, there was no doubt about it. He'd recognize those two anywhere. The movements was what confirmed it. There were photos inside the later pages of the Quibbler that showed the two in combat and there was no faking the way those two moved in battle. He'd seen it first hand and it matched up to what he remembered.

Of course, this called into question his investigation into the matter. He had personally examined their bodies and noticed nothing to indicate that it was not them. So, either there was indeed someone out there who could mimic those two perfectly under Polyjuice Potion, or they were the genuine article.

He would bet an entire year's pay on the latter.

And because of that, he began to ponder the biggest question raised by this revelation: who were the two dead men they had found in their cells, and how had they gotten there.

Now, since he had nothing to distract him from his thoughts, he came to the conclusion much quicker than Tonks had. The two missing persons cases from four years ago. Demetrius Prod and Barnabus Blenkinsop. It must have been them. It would make sense. Elsie had said that he had 'done what he believed was right' when he asked her what she knew of her husband's disappearance. Tonks had shown him the journal she had found in Blenkinsop's shed. There were too many coincidences for him to not acknowledge the connection. Even if it was four years too late. At least he could close those files for good now. He hated unsolved cases.

He sighed and ran a hand through his already messy, honey-colored hair.

He would no doubt receive a harsh dressing down at work tomorrow from the brass but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was just worried and curious about what Harry Potter might do next. He had already aided a rebellion in overthrowing a Ministry, and Barty had publicly executed a government official, neither of them even bothering to hide their identities.

Things were about to get interesting.

 **XXXX**

In a manor house in County Kerry, Ireland, Ronan Mulciber, son of Death Eater Nelson Mulciber, smiled at the paper in front of him.

"He's back," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at the young man on the other side of the table.

Theodore Nott Jr. was a tall and thin young man with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. Eyes that held a certain darkness in them. The younger man looked up from his breakfast with a smile growing on his face. "So, we'll make our move soon then?"

Ronan nodded, tossing the paper aside.

He was a man of above average height, standing at six feet tall, just three inches shorter than Theo was. He had red-brown hair that he also kept shorter and he had a shadow of beard across his face. His eyes were steely blue and he had a scar running from the base of his left eye down his cheek. A 'lesson' from his father in the price of weakness.

"Soon enough," he said.

Theo nodded. "You think they'll join us?"

Ronan shrugged. "What choice do they have? We'll be doing them a favor. They can't say no."

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: All right. Another chapter down! Let me know what you all think.**

 **Next chapter will jump ahead a bit to the ICW meeting and what Harry and the others do there.**

 **Now, I know some of you may be a bit upset that I made Hugo a squib, but don't worry, I have a plan for this. Hopefully I made Hugo to your liking. We haven't seen much of him yet so we can't really get a feel for his character yet.**

 **Important character introductions:**

 **Hugo Jimmy Potter [portrayed by Adam Greaves-Neal]**

 **Ronan Mulciber [Portrayed by Michael Fassbender]**

 **Theodore Nott Jr. [Portrayed by Nicholas Hoult]**


	16. Paris in Flames

**XVI. Paris In Flames**

Paris, it was said, was the city of love. And a no more romantic visage could be asked of a city than that of Paris. For those who lived there, Paris may as well have been the center of the world and the last beacon of creativity and culture,; whether it be art or cinema or theatre.

Harry hated it.

To him, it was no more that a gilded cage within which men and women wasted their lives doing absolutely nothing of value. Sure, it was a beautiful city that was full of life and the grand spectacle of what past ages had left behind but it was all practically suffocating, and all a lie. Here, everyone greeted you with a smile, while their eyes silently judged you and found you wanting, no matter whether you be rich man or poor man, powerful or weak.

He longed for the clouded skies of England, the thick air that still stank of the industrial age, the dirty streets and dirty people who made no pretense of who they were and what they thought of you; unless they were in positions of power.

He knew he was probably being unfair, that he just missed home and wished to return to it, but he couldn't bring himself to care one way or the other.

There was one thing though, about Paris, that Harry could find no fault with, and was the food and wine.

As it was, he, Barty and Regulus were seated in a small muggle bistro, enjoying what culinary delights were on offer. They each had a glass of red wine in front of them, something Barty was thoroughly enjoying, and Harry had just finished a plate of _canard aux olives_ , a roast duck with simmered green olives under a rich sauce.

Malcolm, Tiberius and Fergus were all back in England and Ireland, respectively, now. Harry had chosen to keep the team going to Paris small. Scabior was currently somewhere in the city tailing Ministry officials to see what information he could gather about the upcoming ICW conference, which was a very big deal for the Ministry, who worked closely with the international body.

"Tonight is the night," Regulus said, taking a sip of his wine.

Harry nodded, looking out the window of the bistro, watching the muggles pass by, going about their daily lives without a care in the world or knowledge that there was a war brewing all around them. "Good. If I have to spend another day in this cursed city I might just throw myself off the Eiffel Tower."

Barty chuckled. "Oh, come on, Harry. It isn't _that_ bad. I mean, look around you. Fine food. Fine wine." He took a sip of said wine. "Fine women."

Harry scowled. "I have no need for women, Barty, fine or otherwise."

"What do you have against the French?" Regulus asked, looking at Harry.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I did not say I had anything against the French. I implied that I hated Paris. We could have gone to _Chamonix-Mont-Blanc_ , or _Mont Saint-Michel_ , or _Versailles_ , or _Avignon_ , or _Vall_ _é_ _e de la Loire_ and I would be perfectly content. But, no, we had to come here. Of course the ICW would be meeting in bloody Paris."

Barty pointed at him with a knowing look in his eye. "This is about the Flamel thing isn't it?"

Regulus sat up, clearly interested. "What Flamel thing?"

Harry took a sip of wine, not even tasting it through the bad taste that entered his mouth at the mention of the Flamels.

Barty started on the tale with relish. "When Harry was eleven, Voldemort sent us over here to Paris to meet with Nicholas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle; oh, she was a _fine_ lady indeed. Well, anyway, we get here and Harry's all wide-eyed at the city. Wanted to see _all_ of the sights. So, we meet Flamel and his wife at some art gallery and we get to talking. See, Voldemort wanted us to persuade Flamel to give him some of the Elixir of Life. Of course, Flamel refused, but since we were polite in our endeavor he did invite us over to his home for dinner before we departed back for England. Now, during dinner, I had the bright idea to try and get some of the Elixir myself while Harry distracted Flamel. Well, unfortunately, for Harry anyway, I ran into Mrs. Flamel and we ended up in quite a precarious position."

"Which is Barty's way of saying he had her bent over a desk in the library with her knickers around her ankles. Not that she was complaining of course," Harry added in, looking accusingly at Barty.

"Details; who needs 'em? Besides, I can't be blamed. _She_ came onto me!" Barty dismissed. "Anyway, so, yes, I was given Mrs. Flamel an experience to remember me by, when old Nick walks in on us, with Harry in tow. Of course, the old man didn't take too kindly to me letting his wife, who still looked to be in her late twenties, I might add, give my broomstick a good servicing, so he starts yelling and cursing at us, then pulls his wand. Of course, Harry reacted faster and killed him before he could do anything. Poor Perenelle was horrified. Thanks for that, by the way," he said to Harry. "Total mood-killer. Anyway, I stunned the woman before Harry could kill her and then wiped her memory of the whole thing. So, we ended up back in England without the Elixir and the news reported Flamel's death as a heart-failure due to complications with an illness; apparently, the Elixir of life doesn't keep one from getting sick, just stops you from aging. Last I heard, Perenelle took the remaining Elixir and moved out of France."

"So, how did you not get the Elixir?" Regulus asked.

"They had it in Gringotts, and there is no way we were going to go and try to rob them for it. We like living, thanks." Barty finished off his glass of wine.

"I'll bet Voldemort wasn't too happy with that," Regulus guessed.

"Not in the slightest. I had random convulsions from over-exposure to the Cruciatus Curse for a week." Barty shivered just thinking about it. He looked at a clock hanging on the wall nearby. "So, what time did they say they were coming?"

Regulus glanced at the clock, and then at his pocket watch. "Should be any time now."

"Well, at least we'll have some friendly faces with us this time," Harry said with false cheer. "Maybe you won't try to shag this one's wife."

Barty held up his hands defensively. "I've sworn off married women, mate. I'm thinking I might try and settle down when we get back to jolly old England."

Harry smirked now. "Still on about that? You sure it's not just a phase?"

Regulus cocked an eyebrow at this. "On about what? What did I miss?"

Barty opened his mouth to answer but Harry beat him to it. "Barty here is thinking about finding himself a wife."

Regulus blinked. "Pull the other one."

Harry laughed. "Not being funny here, he actually said that. Even talked about having some kids to carry on his family name and all. Wanted to know if I knew any prospective witches back home who were unattached."

Barty nodded. "I still think Lily is the best option."

"You stay the hell away from my mum, Crouch," Harry warned, glaring at the older man and pointing a stern finger at him.

"Ooh, last name," Regulus snickered. "Touched a nerve on that one, Bart-Bart."

"Oh, bloody hell, don't go starting that up again!" Barty groaned. "What are you, twelve?"

Regulus and Harry smirked at his annoyed reaction to the old schoolyard nickname. "In all seriousness, though," Regulus said, waving a member of the waitstaff over to the table from where she was standing along the edge of the room. "I'm quite impressed." The young waitress arrived at their table and Regulus ordered a round of _caffé macchiatos_ for each of them, along with two extra for their contacts, who had yet to arrive. She wrote down the order on a small notepad and went off to fill it. Regulus turned back to his brothers. "As I was saying. I'm somewhat impressed with you, Barty. Here I was starting to think you'd never grow up. And it only took you forty-two years to do it."

Barty made a rude gesture with his fingers. "Ha-bloody-ha." he sarcastically responded.

"You can't be the prodigal son forever, you know," Regulus said.

"Says the last Black," Harry butted in.

"Did Sirius die without me hearing about it?" Regulus asked with faux concern.

Harry shook his head. "Not yet. But his days are numbered."

"Blimey, I keep forgetting that we still have quite a mess back home to clean up," Barty lamented as the waitress arrived with their espressos. " _Merci beaucoup_ ," he said as she set his cup down in front of him. Harry and Regulus echoed the thanks to her as well and she smiled at them before moving away again.

"James, Sirius, Remus, Crouch, Scrimgeour, Savage, Lynch, Lynch, Williamson, Robards, Graves, Proudfoot, Fudge, and anyone else who gets in our way," Harry listed off. He'd write the list down later, just as he had done the last time. Hell, there were still a few names left on that old list that he might just consider eliminating permanently. Oh well, he'd wait and see.

"Doesn't seem like too bad in the odds department," Regulus commented. "But Graves and Proudfoot are back in the U.S.; it'll be difficult to get to them. We don't have the manpower to take on MACUSA. Believe it or not, they've got one of the best Auror forces in the world."

Harry nodded. "I have no quarrel with MACUSA, just Graves and Proudfoot. They were part of the team that put me in Azkaban. And, I have faith that they'll be back once they realize we are still a threat."

"You risk provoking MACUSA though if you kill Graves. The President is his grandfather, Percival Graves, a veteran of the war with Grindelwald. Grindelwald actually captured him and locked him up in Nurmengard, then assumed his identity for a while in New York. I do believe it was Newt Scamander who captured him that time, though he later escaped again. Graves was released after the war ended." Regulus took a swallow of his drink. "What makes you think President Graves won't declare war on you if you kill his grandson? On top of that, the Lynch brothers are his great-nephews."

"Damian Lynch dies, there is no way around it. That bastard raped my mind while I was in Ministry custody. Barty's too." Barty nodded at Harry's words. "And his brother fought against us and won't just stand by, so he dies too."

Regulus sighed. "I really hope you know what you are doing, Harry."

" _Excusez-moi_ , _ce si_ _è_ _ge est=il pris_?"

Harry looked up at the soft feminine voice behind him. " _Pas du tout, Fleur, je t'en prie, joint-toi_ _à_ _nous_."

The beautiful French witch, and Quarter-Veela, smiled winningly at him and lowered herself into the chair at his side. " _Bonjour_ , 'Arry," she greeted warmly.

" _Bonjour_ , Fleur," Harry returned. "Where's Bill?"

Fleur gestured outside the window where Bill was having an intense conversation with a young girl about five or six years old. There was an older woman with them, waiting patiently with a small baby in her arms, asleep. "Our daughter, Victoire, she does not want to go 'ome with Yvette, our nanny, and little Dominique. She is a stubborn girl, and I fear she takes too much after me at times."

Bill finished up whatever was being said and the older woman led the little girl away. Bill ran a hand through his long red hair and then entered the bistro, making his way over to them.

Harry stood up to meet Bill, the older man pulling him into a half-handshake, half-hug. "It is good to see you, Harry," Bill said sincerely. "When your Elf arrived with your message, I did not quite know what to think. Then we saw the papers and well, as terrifying as it is, I'm glad you're back."

Harry smiled. "It's good to be back, Bill." He turned to the table and gestured to Barty and Regulus. "This is Barty Crouch Jr., you've met before. And this is Regulus Black. Barty, Regulus, this is Bill Weasley and his wife Fleur."

"A pleasure to meet you," Bill said, shaking their hands before taking a seat on the other side of Fleur, across from Harry.

Fleur gave them a polite nod and murmured a " _Salut_ ," to them both, which they returned politely.

Harry was impressed with Barty in that moment. He didn't even smile flirtatiously or charmingly at Fleur, merely regarded her approvingly and politely. Seemed he was quite serious about not messing about with married women. Not that Fleur would have let him mess around with her anyway. Veela were particularly territorial and preferential of their chosen mates, and though Fleur was not full-blooded Veela, she still wasn't the type to step out on her relationship. Loyal, that was the perfect way to describe Bill and Fleur. Loyal.

"So," Fleur broke the silence. "'Ow are you finding Paris?"

"Harry hates it," Barty said before Harry could answer anything.

Bill laughed at Harry's disgruntled expression. "Oh, come on, Harry, Paris is a fine city."

"I have had the _pleasure_ of visiting before," Harry told him. "Unfortunately, the experience has tainted my view on the place."

"Perhaps we should discuss the purpose of your visit, _non_?" Fleur interrupted as the conversation seemed to grow uncomfortable. Harry shot her a grateful look.

"Yes, let's," Harry agreed, taking a long swallow of his espresso.

Bill leaning in conspiratorially, one elbow on the table and the other gesturing minutely as he spoke. "So, the ICW will meet tomorrow night to vote on the sending of forces to Bulgaria, as you know. They are meeting here in the city, of course, and the building is under heavy guard, not just from Aurors but from independent contractors. Luckily for us, we have a man on the inside."

Barty raised a brow. "Who? We weren't told."

Regulus shook his head and tilted his head toward a table across the room. "The walls have ears," he murmured softly.

Harry discreetly glanced over at the table to see two men dressed in long coats with berets on their heads watching them whilst acting like they weren't.

Bill cursed under his breath in French. "Aurors," he said. "They must have gotten a tip off that you are here. After what you lot did in Sofia, the Ministry has been on high alert. Your faces are everywhere in Wizarding Paris. I had hoped that meeting in the muggle world would keep them off our trail but it seems we are were not so lucky." He reached into his pocket and withdrew some muggle money, dropping more than enough to cover the bill on the table and standing up. "Let's take this outside. Once we are out the door, scatter. We'll meet up somewhere else. There is theatre, _Theatre de l'Od_ _é_ _on_ , do you know it?" The whole time he spoke in a barely audible whisper.

Harry nodded. "Yes, we saw it last time we were here."

Bill nodded. "Meet us there."

They all filed out of the building and went in different directions, Regulus going with Barty so that he could side-along with him, not knowing where the location they were going was.

Harry glanced back as he neared an alleyway and saw the two Aurors on the bike-path, looking around for them all. One saw Harry and pointed at him. Harry smirked and disappeared into the alleyway, finding it to be a dead end.

"Potter! _Arr_ _êtez-vous_!" one of them shouted.

Harry paused in the alleyway, hands at his side and out slightly to show he was unarmed. " _Laissez tomber_ ," he said to them warningly. When they didn't move he flicked his right wrist, the Elder Wand falling into his palm.

" _Lâchez votre baguette_!" The second Auror demanded.

Harry turned to face them. " _Non_."

One of them moved to fire a curse but Harry was faster, swiping his wand in a sharp slashing motion, a powerful bludgeoning curse striking the two men across the chest, shattering their collarbones. They laid on the ground unconscious as Harry approached them, wand still in hand. He knelt down beside them, taking their wands and breaking them before tossing the useless bits of wood to the ground. He did a quick scan of them to make sure that they didn't have some sort of trace on them that would lead more Aurors to his location before stowing his wand back in the holster hidden up his sleeve.

He made his way to the end of the alley and thought of his destination, vanishing on the spot without even turning as most magicals had to do when apparating.

He reappeared behind the theatre and was immediately on the business end of four wands. "Whoa, really? This again?"

"Where did we first meet?" Fleur demanded of him.

Harry raised a brow at her. "Grimmauld Place. I came to the Order to propose an alliance. Though I did see you a few times before that. Like when I saw you and the Weasleys at Fred and George's shop."

Fleur nodded and lowered her wand, the other three following suit. "What kept you?"

Harry shrugged. "They followed me into an alley, so I put them down."

Fleur looked a bit bothered with how casually he said that but Bill just sighed and motioned for them all to follow him. "We need to get off the streets." He magically unlocked a door that led into the theatre and ushered them inside, closing and locking the door behind them.

They casually made their way through the theatre, where there was what appeared to be an audition for a production going on. They gathered in one of the VIP boxes, high above the main floor and pulled the curtains closed, leaving the only view in from below.

They all sat down and pretended to be watching the auditions.

"So, as I was saying before. Tomorrow will be the vote. Every ICW member will be there. An act of war, and this is precisely that, requires a majority vote and they will debate it thoroughly before even taking a count," Bill said.

"How do you know all of this?"

"My _père_ works for zhe Ministry," Fleur said. "'E sits on the _Parlement Magique de France_ , sort of like zhe Wizengamot in England. He hears many things and says much at 'ome. I pick up much from 'im."

"Right," Harry nodded.

"So, our man on the inside can get us in?" Regulus asked.

" _Oui_ ," Fleur nodded. "'E contacted us a week ago to let us know 'e was 'ere."

Regulus nodded, as if he already knew this. "Tiberius mentioned as much to us. He didn't tell us who he was sending though."

"We were not given a name either," Bill said. "We haven't met him, he just sent a letter to us to let us know that he was in the city and would be in touch once he knew something. He wrote yesterday to let us know that the last of the ICW members had arrived and checked in, and that the vote would be tomorrow."

Harry, Barty and Regulus traded looks and then stood up together. "Well," Harry said. "Thank you, Bill, Fleur, we must be going now. We have to rendezvous with our scout and see what he found out. We're staying here in Paris tonight. Probably best if the location remains a secret. You can send an owl if you hear from our inside man."

Bill and Fleur stood as well, Bill shaking Harry's hand and Fleur pulling him into a soft hug before kissing both of his cheeks. She shook Barty and Regulus' hands, Bill doing the same. Then, they all apparated out of the theatre, leaving no trace that they had ever even been there.

 **XXXX**

It was not even midday the next day when an owl arrived at the window of the room that Harry had rented in a small inn on the outskirts of Paris. Barty and Regulus had taken rooms at two other inns. They just felt that it was safer to not have all of them in one place. But, they all knew where the other was, in case they needed to find each other.

Harry heard the tapping from the bathroom, where he was shaving with a straight-razor. He paused, listening for a second before the tapping came again. He sighed and set the razor down, wiping his face with a towel before heading out to the main room.

He had not slept at all the night before, and he could feel it taking a toll on him this morning. He noticed that he felt a bit irked that the owl had interrupted him, but he shoved it aside. He was not in all that great a mood but he refused to let it get to him any more than it already had.

He spotted the owl quickly enough and moved over to let it in. It stayed on the sill as he opened the window and stuck its leg out for him to take the letter from it. He unfastened the small roll of parchment and the bird flew away without a second of hesitation.

Harry frowned and closed the window and sat on the bed, unrolling the parchment. The message inside was short and simple.

 _4 o'clock, La Sainte Chapelle, bell-tower._

The little sketch of the Sign of the Deathly Hallows at the bottom of the letter let him know that it was authentic. He figured that Fleur had sent the original letter to him or the contact had somehow known that he was there and sent the letter directly to him.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. It was but half-past ten in the morning yet. He moved back into the bathroom and finished shaving, then took a shower.

After getting dressed for the day in his usual black trousers, white button-down and black waistcoat and tie. He fastened a pocket watch to the waistcoat and slipped it into his pocket, completing the look. He would forgo the jacket and coat today, as it was a warm day in France. He pulled on his boots and went outside, nodding to the lady at the front desk, letting her know that he would be returning some time late that evening.

Once outside, he went around to the back of the inn and apparated to the inn where Barty was staying. He entered the establishment and climbed the stairs to the second landing. He found the correct door and knocked three times, paused, three more times, paused, three more times.

A moment later he heard footfalls and the door opened a crack and Barty peered out at him through the crack. Before he could even open his mouth Harry said, "You hit me in the face with a tree branch in the thicket around the graveyard where your mother is buried after a fight broke out at her funeral. Damned near killed me too, you git."

He heard a scoff and the door opened all the way. "You know, I'm starting to think I should have hit you harder. Might have given you some respect for your elders."

Harry snorted as he moved into the room. "Well, when you actually start acting older than me, I might consider giving you that respect. Reggie not here yet?"

Barty shook his head. "No. I just woke up actually." As if to add credence to this, he yawned and stretched his arms over his head. And now that Harry looked at him, he was still in his sleep attire.

"Our contact has sent us a meeting location and time, go get ready, we'll wait on Regulus and then go get some breakfast or an early lunch."

Barty nodded, yawning again, and moved into the bathroom to shave and shower, grabbing a nice suit, much like Harry's, except the trousers, waistcoat and jacket were in charcoal and the button down was a darker shade of black and the tie was a dark grey.

He came out dressed and properly groomed, pulled on his own boots and pulled a beer out of the small fridge that was in the 'kitchen' area of the room. He tossed one to Harry, who caught it with ease and popped the top with a small pulse of magic. He took a long swig and sighed contently. Barty did the same, lowering himself into a chair next to a small table. Harry joined him in the other chair.

"Drinking before noon, are we?" Harry said. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Barty rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? We've had this stuff for breakfast for the past four years. At least while we were in Nurmengard, anyway. Not so much in Bulgaria. We just had tea there."

Harry nodded, taking another swig of the beer. "It's a habit I am still trying to decided whether is a good thing or not."

Barty shrugged. "The wine keeps our hearts healthy. The beer keeps our livers and kidneys healthy. Not to mention it helps with our complexion."

"You're starting to sound like a woman," Harry jabbed.

"Laugh all you want, mate," Barty dismissed. "I am gorgeous."

Harry chuckled. "Whatever you say, Barty, whatever you say."

Harry took another swig and glanced around the room they were in.

They had chosen Barty's room as the meeting point because it was more spacious than either of the other two and it was closer to the area of Paris where the Ministry was. In fact, the Ministry was actually about two blocks away. Of course, the Ministry would never find them, because the last place anyone would ever check is right under their nose. According to Scabior, whom that had met up with the previous evening, the Ministry didn't even know they were here. He had spent some time in disguise at the Ministry and aside from a commotion about the two Aurors that Harry had killed, though the Ministry didn't know that it had been Harry who had done it, there was almost nothing of notice going on save for the preparation for the ICW meeting later that day.

"So, do you have a plan for this or are we just going to wing it?" Barty asked after a moment of silence. Harry didn't have to ask what he meant.

"I have a few ideas, yes. I'll just have to wait and see which is better until after we see what we're dealing with." Harry finished his beer and banished the bottle to the waste bin in the corner, summoning a second bottle from the fridge.

"We're most likely going to have to fight our way in, you realize?"

"Undoubtedly," Harry agreed. "I look forward to it. It's quite lucky that we got here in time for this meeting. If things had taken longer in Bulgaria, we'd be fighting a full-on war of attrition."

"We've done it before," Barty pointed out. "Hell, the last war lasted, what, twenty-seven years?"

"Closer to twenty-eight, actually," Harry corrected. "I was actively involved for about thirteen of them. You were in for about nineteen of them, right?"

"Yeah," Barty nodded. "Eighteen or nineteen. You lose track of time when you've got something like that going on. I mean, look at us recently. Four years went by like they were nothing. It's hard to believe it sometimes."

"Well, we were pretty busy in Nurmengard," Harry sighed, thinking about how much time had passed since he had been home. It was too damned long. "Helping Gellert with his research, rebuilding our strength and magical prowess back to what they used to be, training to get better than we used to be, me learning how to move and fight with these runes boosting my speed and such. It took a lot of getting used to. Dueling you and Regulus and Gellert every week until I could beat you all. I could barely stand against you alone before the war ended last time, so that was an accomplishment."

"It was all worth it though," Barty said with a sigh, a small smile on his face as he thought about how they had all grown. To go from practically shells of human beings to where we are now, most would have given up a long time ago."

Harry nodded and they fell into silent once more, neither really sure what to say next, so they just sat and drank their beers until Regulus joined them.

They had to wait another thirty minutes before three-by-three knocks were heard upon the door. Barty answered, while Harry stood back, wand ready, just in case. After the security question asked and Regulus' identity confirmed, the three sat down, a third chair being summon for Regulus to sit in.

Harry passed the note he had received around to them, letting them read it.

" _La Sainte Chapelle_ ," Regulus mused. "I am not familiar with it. Are either of you?"

Harry nodded. "It's actually not too far from here. Right across the Seine, actually."

Regulus raised a brow. "Well, that's convenient."

"And clever," Barty said, tapping his temple. "Think about it. Why did we pick this place to meet? Because it's right under the Ministry's nose. Sainte-Chapelle is right _in front_ of their face, being so close to Notre Dame, which Scabior says the Aurors patrol regularly, since it is such a widely known national landmark. Sainte-Chapelle isn't too far from there at all. We saw it the last time we were here. I had to stop Harry from hexing a priest that was talking rather badly about witches."

"Some of us haven't forgotten what they did to our kind over the centuries. It's because of people like that that we have to remain hidden from the world instead of at the head of it." Harry ground out.

"It would have done us no favors," Barty countered. "But, I digress." He looked at his pocket watch. "It's almost half-passed one o'clock now. I say we grab some lunch, collect Scabior, then head to Sainte-Chapelle. Sound good to everyone?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good, let's go."

He stood up and the other two were forced to follow after him.

They found themselves in another small bistro not far from the inn Barty was staying at and ordered themselves a light meal and some coffee to get their day started; for Regulus anyway, since Barty and Harry had had about four beers each before Regulus had even arrived.

They were about half-way through the meal when Scabior showed up. How he had found them was a mystery, but his skills in tracking weren't in doubt by anyone, so they decided not to question it, especially since if they did, he'd just reply with something along the lines of 'Because I'm the best at what I do', or something to that effect. He didn't eat anything, claiming that he had 'raided' the canteen at the Ministry building before joining them.

"So," Scabior said, leaning forward, resting his forearms against the table. "From what I've managed to glean from the Ministry bloke I've been shadowing, the Minister is all in a tizzy over this Bulgaria situation. Seems there's been whispers of sedition amongst some of the Departments, spurred on by the tension and completely ignited by our actions in Sofia. The Minister, he's afraid that something similar will happen here. He's not too keen to get strung up by his bushel, like Oblansk was."

"So, what's he planning?" Regulus asked.

Scabior shrugged. "Nothing as of yet. He's waiting to see the outcome of the vote tonight. I don't know how he'll react to what we're going to do, but I doubt it'll be anything too drastic. He's already afraid, if we can crush the ICW, he'll likely either surrender to us, or at least get in line with whatever we say."

"We aren't here to overthrow the French Ministry," Harry cut in. "However, if some of those inside wish to take advantage of our actions and do so, then by all means, more power to them and godspeed."

"I did get a chance to scout the ICW building last night," Scabior went on. "After the Ministry closed, I went over to have a look. Security is pretty tight. I didn't see anyone on guard duty that I recognized, so I can't say who our contact is, but I guess we'll see here in about half an hour."

It was already three-thirty in the afternoon, and Scabior, once they had determined that it was really him and not an imposter sent to destroy them, had been shown the letter they had received, after which Harry burned it between his fingers, the ashes being vanished as well.

"Speaking of," Regulus said after draining the last of his coffee. "I want to get there a bit early, get a look at the area. For all we know, this could be a trap."

"The letter checked out," Barty said, scratching his chin. "But, I think you're right. It wouldn't be too farfetched to think that our contact was captured and forced to talk."

Harry nodded his agreement.

"I can hang back," Scabior offered. "My garden hose will smell a trap long before it is sprung, so I can get ya outta there faster than a one-timer fleeing left in the lurch."

Regulus nodded and sent the snatcher on his way. Telling him to get to Sainte-Chapelle and get a good spot picked out to watch from.

"You know," Barty said, watching the younger man walk down to the corner and then out of sight. "Sometimes, I can't understand a word that comes out of his mouth."

"He doesn't always talk like that," Regulus said. "He slips into the rhyming slang out in the field a lot though. Keeps eavesdroppers from understanding what's being said. Or so he says."

"Sometimes I think he does it just to see the confusion on other peoples faces," Barty said.

"Chevy Chase," Regulus said.

"Pardon?"

"Face," Regulus said. "Chevy Chase is the rhyming slang for face." Barty gave him an odd look while Harry just shook his head. "What? I've seen Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels."

"What the bloody bollocks is that?" Barty asked.

"It's a muggle film," Regulus said. "Came out around the time you two went into Azkaban. It's pretty good, you should check it out when we get back to England."

"If they talk like that bloke does, I'll need a fucking translator in order to even understand it!" Barty spat, scowling.

"Enough chit-chat," Harry interrupted, standing up from his chair. He glanced about and flicked his fingers subtly, and a moment later a muggle wallet flew into his hand from across the room. He opened it up and fished out some notes and dropped them on the table to pay for their meals. He then banished the wallet to the floor next to the man he had taken it from. The man probably wouldn't even notice the money was missing, given how much was in there. Had to be over a thousand pounds, give or take depending on the value of the euro in comparison to the pound and vice/versa.

"You play the rogue well," Regulus jested, watching Harry's actions.

Harry shrugged and started walking toward the exit, which happened to bring him right past the man whose wallet he had just stolen and returned. " _Excusez-moi, Monsieur, vous avez fait tomb_ _é votre porte-feuille_."

The man looked alarmed and glanced around on the floor. He sighed with relief when he spied the wallet by his chair leg and scooped it up. " _Merci_."

Harry waved it off and went out the door, Barty and Regulus on his heels, the former fighting to keep a straight face.

Once they were down the street a ways, Barty burst into laughter. "Oh, sweet Morgana, that was -" he was consumed by another fit of laughter before he could even finished the sentence.

Harry rolled his eyes but smirked nonetheless while Regulus slapped Barty on the back as he started choking on air from laughing too hard.

"Scabior should be in position by now," Harry said, glancing about them and slipping into an alleyway. The other two followed him, Barty finally getting himself under control. "We have ten minutes before the allotted time. We need to go now." Without waiting for them to respond he apparated on the spot, reappearing inside the main chamber of the church. He took a moment to admire the way the afternoon sun shone through all of the stained glass before walking toward where he knew a stairway led up to the upper levels. He heard a small _crack_ and knew that Barty and Regulus had arrived close-by. He glanced over at them and made eye-contact so that they'd know to follow him.

When he reach the area to access the bell, he found a hooded figure waiting for him.

He paused as the figure turned to face him, the hood casting his entire face into shadow. Harry's wand fell into his hand as his body tensed.

"There's no need for that, Mr. Potter," the figure spoke in a low, raspy voice that was oddly familiar.

"I think I'll be the judge of whether there's a need for it," Harry countered, hearing the arrival of Barty and Regulus behind him. "Show me your face."

A light chuckle was heard from within the hood and the figure's hands came up and pulled it back, revealing an angular face with blue eyes and a short beard, topped with long hair that was pulled back at the top and sides, being tied at the back of the head, leaving the rest to fall freely around his shoulders.

Harry instantly relaxed and holstered his wand. "Arnold Peasegood, as I live and breath." He stepped forward and shook the older man's hand firmly. "They've dragged you into this mess too have they?"

Arnold shook his head. "Nah. I volunteered. After all, other than old Scabior, I was the only one with any free reign to do as I pleased and go where I pleased, since I work for the Ministry in a freelance capacity now."

"Right," Harry nodded. "Nymphadora mentioned you were a Hit-Wizard now. Is that what brought you here?"

Arnold nodded. "That was the excuse anyway. I lied about there being a wanted criminal here in France. Well, it was a half-lie." He said the last bit with a conspiratorial wink. He then looked over Harry's head at Barty and Regulus. "Regulus, please tell your friend to lower his wand, we don't need any accidents in here."

Regulus elbowed Barty in the ribs hard enough to make Barty double over with a cough. "Bloody hell, Reggie, what the fuck was that for?"

"You were on the verge of causing a scene. I had to restore order," Regulus said.

"I was lowering my bloody wand, you arse!"

"Arnold Peasegood," Harry said. "I don't believe you've met Barty Crouch Jr. yet. Not officially at least."

Arnold nodded. "I remember seeing him at Malfoy Manor." he walked over to Barty and shook his hand as well. "Mr. Crouch, I've heard your name several times."

Barty, who was still scowling from being elbowed, couldn't help being sarcastic. "Yes, well that's to be expected, most people have; It's also a verb."

Arnold smirked slightly. "Funny." He stepped back so that he could address them all at once. "I have to report to the ICW building in an hour for my shift. The body is in recess at the moment, they'll reconvene not long after I go on duty. There is a back entrance in an alleyway between the ICW building and the office complex next to it. It's kept locked at all times and we patrol the corridor regularly. This will be your way in. I'll be there to guide you all through the building. We'll have to take the other guards down along the way. I'll eliminate who I can on my way to let you in but I don't know how much of a dent I can make without raising an alarm. Once we get everyone inside and into position, I'll break off with Scabior and we'll set up a perimeter and wards. Anyone who tries to get away will have to get by us." He paused. "Speaking of which, where is the snatcher?"

Harry shrugged. "He's somewhere around here. We needed an ace in the hole should this actually turn out to be a trap."

Arnold nodded. "A wise plan. But, unnecessary. Meet me at the back entrance in an hour and a half. Don't be late. We'll only get one shot at this. We can't afford to muck it up."

He nodded to them and apparated on the spot, leaving the three brothers behind.

Harry turned to face Regulus. "You know, I'm actually starting to believe what you told me back in Godelot's Barrow, about Tiberius and Malcolm having people on the inside in the Ministry."

"You didn't believe me before?" Regulus asked, looking incredulous.

Harry shook his head. "I thought it was just a ruse to try and make us feel better about our chances."

Regulus frowned. "I'd have expected a bit more faith than that, Harry."

"Faith is just belief based on an absence of information," Harry reasoned. "It's not that I don't trust you, Regulus, it's that I _didn't_ trust you. I mean, can you really blame me? After so many years believing you were dead and then you reappear and manipulate me, then you rescue me from prison two years later with an unknown group for a cause I had no real investment in. At that point, you were basically a stranger to me, and I didn't know if I could trust you or believe anything you said. So, is it really all that surprising that I might be wary to believe such a claim?"

"I thought we were past all of this manipulation stuff," Regulus said, looking a bit hurt.

"We are," Harry agreed. "I was merely explaining the circumstances around my not believing something you said until now. Because now, I have the evidence. Or at least some. Now, are we going to stand around here chatting all evening or are we going to go and do what we came here to do? We'll meet back at Barty's room."

Not bothering to give him a chance to reply, Harry apparated away.

Barty walked up next to Regulus and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't look so down, mate. He's not a kid anymore. Hasn't been for a long time."

"Was he always like this after I left?" Regulus asked.

Barty shook his head. "Nah. Most of the time he was worse. This is mild by comparison to how he can be. He doesn't trust easily, you know that. So, your leaving and the deception we both used on him broke a lot of that trust. We've been lucky to get that back at all. Everyone else that's betrayed him has wound up dead." He sighed. "For the record, I believed you."

Regulus scoffed. "No you didn't," he countered. "You're just saying that to try and make me feel better."

Barty cocked his head. "Yeah, you're right. It's the thought that counts though, right?" He grinned at the end.

Regulus shook his head. "I suppose."

"Come on, chin up, mate," Barty gave Regulus a light shove. "Trust me, he doesn't hold a grudge. If he did, you'd know it."

"Yeah, how?" Regulus asked.

"Well, for starters, you'd probably be dead, or worse. I ever tell you what he did to Dolohov?"

Regulus shook his head in the negative.

"Well, you see, that was the perfect example of Harry holding a grudge." Barty leaned against the wall. "See, we were in the Department of Mysteries, trying to get our hands on this prophecy that said Harry was destined to kill the Dark Lord. Harry and his little group were there too, along with Dumbledore's Order. Anyway, there was a fight, Harry and I broke off from the main group and dueled in the Death Chamber. I was able to come out on top in that fight, and had him down for the count. Then, the other Death Eaters, they lead the rest of his little group into the room and we line 'em up on their knees. Then the Order shows up and the fight begins anew. During the fight, Dolohov used that purple-flamed curse of his, you know the one. Anyway, he used it on Hermione and she went down hard. Harry, was livid. He took Dolohov hostage and tortured him for a couple of weeks straight. He and Charlie tag-teamed him, taking turns putting him through so much hell that he begged for death, but never letting him die. Harry cut off his lips, fried them up and fed them to him. It would have gone on longer if Harry hadn't lost his temper one day and beat Dolohov to death with a wooden chair. It should be noted that this was when he was missing his arm. How did you not know this? You were at Grimmauld during that time."

Regulus shrugged. "I didn't spend every day there. I was out and about pretty often during those days. And when I was there, it was mostly in the bedroom where the perch was. I stayed up there mostly during that time because Hermione was injured and couldn't get out of bed, so I kept watch over her for Harry. I didn't know what all he was doing down there, though I did hear the screams from time to time. It shouldn't have been hard to guess, I just didn't put it all together. Maybe I didn't want to."

"Well, there's no use dwelling on that now," Barty said. "We've got work to do. So, get your head in the game and let's go start the new French Revolution."

"Actually, it would be more accurate to call it the Second Great Wizarding Revolution. Can't quite call it the Second Global Wizarding War yet, since we've only been in two countries so far." Regulus shrugged as if not sure of which of his own terms were actually the right one.

"Either way," Barty allowed. "Let's go kill the ICW!"

"Not sure if that's proper grammar, that." Regulus chuckled.

"Who cares about proper grammar? We're English. It's our language, we've got the right to butcher it any way we like!"

 **XXXX**

The door at the back of the unassuming building where the ICW met opened with a metallic groan and Peasegood stood there with his wand in his hand, dressed in a simple cloth shirt and brown leather trousers and boots, with a duster of the same make over the shirt. "Where was I when you first met me?" he asked looking at Harry.

"You were standing over the graves of your wife and daughter, before the funeral of Barty's mum," Harry answered seriously. That was the great thing about these questions, he had to admit, together they provided proof that both parties were who they appeared to be. At least they did, provided that you asked the right question and gave sufficient detail in the answer.

Peasegood nodded his head and ushered them inside.

Harry and Barty were dressed in the Dragon-hide robes they'd been given by the Bulgarians and Regulus was in a plain robe of similar style, but made of cotton instead; and Scabior dressed as he usually did, which was fine by them. They had not worn the masks since that first skirmish, feeling that they didn't really represent who they were anymore, and they certainly didn't paint the sort of image that said 'not a Death Eater' or 'we're here to help you'. Those masks were a terror tactic and Harry saw no need for them. He didn't need terror, he needed _fear_ , and it was more frightening to see the face of your killer, see his eyes and the lack of remorse or mercy on his face. To see that your life means nothing to him and that there really is a monster under that human disguise.

That was the image Harry projected onto his enemies. No more was he the faceless killer who wore the Mark of Voldemort, he was his own man now, and he would have the world see him as he was, rather than an assumed image.

Determination drove him onward as he followed Peasegood through the plain-looking corridors of the ICW building. There was nothing spectacular about this area of the building, just as there was nothing noteworthy about the exterior. It was hiding in plain sight, right under everyone's noses.

As they reached the end of the first corridor, they stepped over the body of a wizard in blue robes, his wand lay broken on the floor and he had a long gash across his neck and chest. A Cutting Curse. He had been dead within minutes, bleeding out quickly from a severed artery. The blood was everywhere, on the floor and walls, both of which were a stark, glaring white, which made the deep crimson all the more noticeable.

"Luckily," Peasegood said, stepping over the body and around the blood. "He was the only one I had to kill on the way to meet you, so no one is any the wiser. We'll have to kill a few more on the way though, especially once we reach the upper levels."

Scabior, who was bringing up the rear, hopped over the blood and titled his head slightly, listening to the echo of his boots on the floor as it reverberated through the corridor. "There's someone around the next bend," he said. "I heard the footsteps falter when I made that noise. Was hard to notice at first, it was so steady."

Regulus gave the snatcher a look that clearly asked 'how the bloody hell do you do that?'

"I'm a Snatcher by profession, and a tracker by necessity. My senses are sharper than most. Had to use hearing though, the blood is getting in the way of my nose." Scabior frowned. "They're heading this way."

The five of them drew to a halt then, which Peasegood holding a finger to his mouth to signal for silence. They all stood still, breathing softly, wands at the ready. Sure enough, after a short moment, the steady _knock-knock-knock_ of boot heels on the hard floor reached their ears.

Peasegood leveled his wand at the corner, waiting. A few seconds later, a witch in green robes rounded the corner. She barely had time for her eyes to widen before a cutting curse caught her in the throat.

Harry and the others rushed forward as she started to fall. Harry, being the fastest of the lot, caught her in his arms and lowered her to the ground gently, lest the sound of her hitting the ground alert others to their presence. She gazed up at him, her eyes asking him 'why?'. He smiled sadly down at her, his emerald eyes meeting her own blue. He softly brushed her hair out of her face and as the light started dimming behind her eyes. "Sleep now. It will all be OK. I promise. Death is not the end. Shush now. Sleep. There you go." Her eyes dimmed completely and her body fell slack as the life left her. He closed her eyes with a small wave of magic and planted a brief kiss to her hairline, then lowered to the floor. Save for the blood, she could have been sleeping.

He stood up to see the others watching him with a range of emotions on their faces. Peasegood looked mostly stoic, but he could see a hint of understanding in his eyes. Barty was looking solemn and Regulus appeared more confused than anything. Scabior was just baffled.

"Well, that was awfully kind of you," the cockney noted.

Harry nodded. "Despite what most would think, I am not cruel to those that do not deserve it." He sighed and started walking on, the others following. "She was not our enemy. Not really. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"How do you reckon that?" Scabior asked.

"Simply put, it's the robes," Harry answered. "The ICW guards wear red robes with the official ICW badge on them. These lot, they're just freelancers. Hired security. Regular witches and wizards just trying to make a living the only way they know how. It brings me no pleasure to kill them."

"Her name was Rhona, she was from Scotland. A nice girl. I wish she hadn't had to die. That being said, not taking pleasure in killing them, isn't the same as showing them kindness as they die," Peasegood pointed out as they turned another corner.

"It wasn't planned," Harry admitted. "I caught her so her body falling wouldn't make a racket. Then, I made eye-contact and something in there caught me. She was confused and scared. She knew she was going to die and it scared her more than anything. So, I did what I could to ease her passing; to alleviate that fear. I didn't plan for that to happen, it was just spur of the moment. Would you have done differently in my place?"

A simple, "No," was all the answer he received from the widower and...well, there was no word, in any language he knew, for a parent who had lost their child. Perhaps, that was because there were no words to describe the amount of pain one goes through when such a thing happens.

"Harry's always had a soft spot for the innocent," Barty said. "Like when he spared the Longbottom boy. Or when he spared the Parkinson girl and her little bastard child."

"Longbottom was killed though," Peasegood said.

"Yeah, after the fact," Barty said.

"I killed him when he attacked Hermione," Harry clarified. "He was no longer an innocent at that point. At that point, he was an enemy and was put down as such."

There appeared before them a doorway with a sign that read 'STAIRS' in English, with the word 'ESCALIERS' above it, with an arrow pointed up. Peasegood pushed the door open, revealing that there were indeed stairs.

"We'll have to be extra quiet from here," the ex-Obliviator said. "Above here, the ICW guards have dominion. And there are a lot more of them than us freelancers. They aren't likely to take an 'ask questions first' approach, either, so be on alert."

"I'm always on alert," Scabior muttered. Harry silently agreed with the cockney. He wasn't in the habit of lowering his guard in a hostile situation. Sure, it had happened a few times, under extreme circumstances, but he didn't actively do it.

The stairway was just as stark in color as the corridors below had been. It was starting to hurt his eyes and bring about a dull throb behind them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small phial, no bigger than a finger, of red liquid and uncorked it, draining the potion in a single swallow before tucking the now-empty phial back into his pocket.

The potion had the added bonus of giving him a small boost in energy and given that he still hadn't slept yet, that was a very welcome addition. He knew that he had been a bit short with the others all day but on top of his fatigue, he was on edge. This was a make or break time for them. If they failed tonight, then the war would go on a lot longer on this front than he was willing allow it. He longed for home and the arms of the woman he loved.

They reached the top of the stairs and Barty and Peasegood took the lead, each taking one side of the double doors that they were met with. Peasegood held three fingers up, lowered one, lowered the second, then finally formed a fist by lowering the last. He and Barty threw open the doors and fired off a pair of killing curses at the first guards they saw. The two men were dead before they even had time to register that there was anyone else there.

A third, who happened to be walking by at the time, saw the first two go down and drew his wand, firing off a curse of his own.

Barty dropped into a crouch as the curse flew over his head, impacting the wall behind him, melting a hole through it. "Blimey," he muttered, seeing it.

Scabior and Harry rushed out, the snatcher snapping his arm out, a rope and hook shooting from the end of it, while Harry watched to make sure no other guards came around to join the fight from that direction. The hook arched through the air and pierced the shoulder of the guard, who had no time to block it, securing against the inside of the collarbone. He gave a sharp tug of the rope the man was dragged forward onto his face with a cry of agony. Taking advantage of the guard's fallen state, Scabior ran forward and stomped the man's face into the floor until he stopped moving. A killing curse ensured that the job was done.

Regulus, who had been watching their backs, cast a silent killing curse down the hall, hitting the guard that had just come around the bend in the face. The guard stood there for a long moment before collapsing; of course he had been dead already, but his body had just taken moment to catch on to that fact.

Peasegood looked both directions for a moment, getting his bearings, then pointed to the left-hand corridor. "This way."

They took off at a steady jog, Scabior and Peasegood up front, the one with the best senses and the one that knew the way; Harry and Barty, their powerhouses, and best fighters, in the back as support and Regulus moving backward, keeping their rear covered.

As they ran, Harry was able to observe their surroundings a bit better. The walls were painted in a deep red, lined with gold, much like the Gryffindor colors, while the carpeted floor was a creamy color. The ceiling was dark, almost black, giving the halls a strange duality. Harry found it almost fitting. Darkness above, light below with the red in between representing the blood of man, humanity, always stuck between light and darkness, striving for one while being inexplicably drawn to the other. Or so he saw it. Maybe he was reading too much into it...just a little bit.

Breaking the monotony, there were portraits and paintings spaced evenly, with a wooden table or a chair beneath them. It was an attempt to make the place feel more grand and possibly inviting, but Harry found it pretentious and bland.

They neared the next corner and slowed a bit, Scabior sniffing the air cautiously. He tilted his head as if listening to something only he could hear, then nodded to himself and held up two fingers. Peasegood nodded and motioned Harry and Barty up to take care of the guards.

Harry and Barty pressed against the wall by the corner, Harry in front, being the shorter of the two, and Barty behind him. Harry didn't take the time to count them down, just moved, knowing that Barty knew him and his movements well enough to be able to follow and support him.

Harry went low, leaving Barty to stand normally, and fired a cutting curse at the nearest guard, who was walking their way, the curse hitting him in the chest, while Barty fired a killing curse at the farther guard, who managed to dodge it, having glanced back at just the right time to see it coming.

Barty cursed under his breath and fired off a flurry of cutting curses, the first few the guard managed to block but a silent _Sectumsempra_ from Harry, hidden inside the flurry, sliced right through the magical shield and shredded the man's stomach, Barty's cutting curses doing the same to the rest of his front, leaving the man a bloodied mess on the floor.

Barty motioned back to the others and Scabior and Peasegood ran around, the snatcher running to the nearest guard and hitting him with a killing curse to make sure he was really dead. There was no question about the second guard. There was no saving him. He was already choking on his own blood as his lungs flooded and collapsed at the same time.

"We're close to the courtroom," Peasegood said softly to Harry and the others. "It's just around the this next bend. There are six guards down there, so we'll have to be quick and one of us will have to kill two. After that, Scabior and I will take up position outside while you three go in. I'll throw up some wards of my own to keep everyone in, even if they try to lower their own wards." He looked at everyone. "Ready?" He received silent nods all around. "Let's go."

It was a brief moment of chaos that took over as the group rounded the next bend, wands at the ready and falling easily into a line. They fired their curses, only one of which found its mark. The guards returned the assault in kind, forcing Harry and the others to block the oncoming attacks. Harry, being the best duelist of the group, deflected two curses back at their casters, taking them out of the fight, one of them with the flesh of his face melting off. Harry wasn't exactly sure what curse that was, but he made a note to find it and learn it later. Unless, of course, it was a family curse, in which case he would more than likely never find it. But, he could create something like it for himself perhaps.

A few short second, though they passed slowly, and the corridor was filled with six dead wizards.

The group ran forward, Scabior going about and making sure they were all dead, while Barty and Regulus took hold of the doors to the chamber where the ICW met and held trials. Peasegood was already waving his wand about and erecting wards.

"Ready, Harry?" Regulus asked.

Harry took a deep breath and met his brother's eyes. "Let's do this. Don't any of you lot die on me, we've come too far for that now." He nodded again. "Do it."

Regulus and Barty threw open the doors and rushed in, wands ready.

Harry followed hot on their heels.

A blasting curse to the ceiling brought everyone to their feet in an uproar and wands were drawn. Harry, using a trick he had learned from Grindelwald, waved a hand, sending a pulse of magic through the room, ripping the wands from the hands of everyone present, save for himself, Barty and Regulus, the wands clattered to the floor at Harry's feet, and he cast a fire-making spell on them, igniting them.

He stepped over the fire and surveyed the room. It was large, about the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, circular in shape and very open. In the center of the room was a round table with the center missing. From the research he had done on the ICW, the floor in the middle of this table would open up and a cage would rise from the floor. The cage bore spikes like an iron maiden, which would impale the inhabitant of the cage if they were found guilty of whatever crime they were accused of and sentenced to death.

Around this center table were four larger rings of tables. There were over two hundred witches and wizards in the room, from at least one-hundred and ninety-two countries; some of these countries had representatives from their various colonies as well, though that was only Australia, France, the UK and the USA; and Denmark, who had a representative from the Faeroe Islands.

And all two-hundred plus of these witches and wizards were on their feet, staring in horror at Harry and his two brothers. Most knew exactly who it was that had just walked into the room, and others were slowly realizing it after quick glances at their notes; Harry could see from a nearby desk that they each had pictures of them from various newspapers.

He had their attention, now to put on a show. He walked toward the center of the room, casting a spell to magically amplify his voice.

"Ladies and gentleman, Witches and Wizards of the ICW, fellow magicals from around the world, please remain calm and stay where you are!" Harry shouted, jumping up on the surface of the innermost circular desk. He leveled his wand at them, Barty and Regulus doing the same as they too jumped up onto a desk. "Nobody moves, and nobody dies!" Yet, he added silently. "Now, my name is Harry James Potter. I'm sure you've all heard of me. That's not arrogance, it's an assumption based on the hard fact that my face, and the faces of my brothers here, have been plastered all over the Wizarding World for the past week or so, and are currently gracing each of your desks. Now, I know you aren't all bad people, some of you are just doing your job and you don't really put much thought into how your tyrannical actions within this august body have effected the common man and woman under your rule. What should you care? It doesn't effect you like it does them, does it? No. However, I stand before you today to deliver a message. The message is this: we, the people of the Wizarding World, will no longer bow and scrape beneath the boots of tyrants acting under the guise of a benevolent, protective organization. This autocratic, authoritarian establishment will no longer be tolerated. And we hereby exercise our right to revolution. Too long have you controlled us. How we live, what we can and cannot do. We are the peak of human evolution in this day and age. Our powers give us a responsibility to the rest of the world, to push it further and further. Yet, your draconian laws and incessant fear have driven us so far underground that the muggles whom we fancy ourselves so superior to, have branched further and grown more without us, while we cower in the shadows and let the world move on around us. We have grown stagnant, my friends. We are no longer the superior people we see ourselves as, or should be."

He stopped walking around the table and stared directly at the Supreme Mugwump, whom he had identified by a grand plaque on his desk. The man was tall and of African origin, though from where he was not sure.

"Once upon a time, there was a great wizard by the name of Gellert Grindelwald. He had a vision. A vision of a world united and ruled by magic. Where we no longer have to hide in the shadows. Where we no longer have to hide from the world that we were made to lead. You all, your countrymen, your forefathers, you all fought against him, because you feared what he he sought to create. A world where magical and muggle could live together, and even become one. It was not the common people who first stood against him. No. it was this confederation. You opposed him, not on moral principle, which is what you would have the masses believe, but because what he sought to achieve threatened you and your positions of power. In such a new world, your power over us all would be weakened. What use is there for a governing body designed to protect our people from discovery have in a world where there are no secrets?"

He paused again and took a deep breath, looking around at the gathered assembly. A few were muttering among themselves and others were looking for a way out, or shaking their heads in vehement disagreement to what he was saying. One was even cursing him out in French and making colourful comments about his mother and a dog. Harry narrowed his eyes at this man, who was louder than the rest, and shot a killing curse right at him, silencing him.

Screams broke out at this action but Harry ignored them, his magnified voice managing to cut through the din.

"For one, I refuse to bow down any longer. So, with that in mind, I now stand before you as judge, jury and executioner. The charges lay before you, how do you plead?" Harry paused only a moment, leaving no time for them to answer. He smiled wolfishly. "Guilty."

As his last word echoed through the room, he waved his wand around in a circle over his head, a wave of fire blasting forth and setting the ceiling and upper walls ablaze.

He hopped down from the desk and walked casually toward the doors, where Barty and Regulus were already waiting. A wizard in a royal blue robe ran at Harry, screaming something in a language Harry did not recognize, but he was cut down before he even got close to Harry.

Barty and Regulus shot killing curses at a few of the ICW members as they tried to rush the doors, sending them scurrying away. Harry stopped in front of the door and waved his wand again, creating a wall of fire between the three brothers and the rest of the room. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the door.

The three exited the room, locking the door and casting an unbreakable charm on it so that no one could blast it open; they may not have wands anymore, but that didn't mean someone in there couldn't still cast spells - wandless magic was not something restricted to only the truly powerful, considering that they taught it in the later years of school.

"That was _Gubraithian Fire_ wasn't it?" Regulus asked.

Harry nodded. "Grindelwald taught me it. It'll never go out, unless I myself put it out. Water or dirt or anything else, will have no effect on it."

"That's all well and good," Barty said. "But we need to get out of here."

Harry turned to Peasegood, who was coming around the corner after his wards told him that someone had exited the room. "Do your wards extend past the courtroom?"

The older man shook his head. "No. We can apparate out whenever we need to. SCABIOR!" he shouted the last bit, knowing the other man would hear him. A moment later, the snatcher came running around the opposite corner to join them. "So where are we going?"

Harry shrugged. "Ever been to the Eiffel Tower?"

 **XXXX**

" _La justice est une riviér-rouge_." Barty murmured, looking out over the city.

The five men stood atop the grand tower that was the most famous landmark in France, looking out across the city. They could see the cathedral of Notre Dame in the distance, lit up for the night. The Eiffel Tower, likewise, was lit up as well. Not far from Notre Dame, a fire blazed, despite the valiant efforts of the muggle fire brigade.

"Our business here is complete," Regulus said, leaning against a rail, looking at the fire in the distance.

Peasegood nodded and looked at Harry, who was watching the fire closely. "What will you do now?"

Harry didn't take his eyes off the blaze. He was focusing his magic across the distance to keep the fires from spreading from the ICW building. He didn't answer for a long time, not until he saw the roof of the building collapse in, and he released all hold on the magic, letting the fire die to the efforts of the muggles. He sagged from the effort of using his magic from so far away, coupled with his lack of rest, but managed to stay upright. He finally turned to Peasegood and sighed. "Now, we go home."

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. This ends the second section of the story. Next chapter we get the long-awaited reunion of Harry and Hermione, and Harry gets to meet his son again, as well as learn the truth about him.**

 **Also, we'll see the unavoidable conversation between Harry and Tonks.**

 **Wow, this chapter took a lot out of me.**

 **SPECIAL THANKS TO** **ChessManE4 and** **lirael61 for helping me with the French and German.**

 **Fleur Delacour [portrayed by Clémence Poésy]**

 **Bill Weasley [portrayed by Domhnall Gleeson]**

 **Arnold Peasegood [portrayed by Zach McGowan]**

 **Let me know what you all think, please.**


	17. Back On English Soil

**XVII. Back On English Soil**

In the days following the fire that killed the entirety of the gathered ICW, the Wizarding World was in a state of shock, whilst the governments of the various magical communities worldwide scrambled to maintain order and peace as they struggled to both lessen and identify the ramifications that this event would have upon the day-to-day running of said governments.

Of course, a few countries were not feeling these effects, either by grace of having removed themselves from the Confederation beforehand, like Bulgaria, or by virtue of never having been a part of it to begin with, such as Taiwan or Finland.

England, for their part, was one of the ones in chaos. Not because of the lack of the ICW, their alliances with the magical communities in America and other lands made sure that they had support for such things should they need it, but because there was a general panic within the Ministry that Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. would be returning to England soon, and they feared that they would soon suffer the same fate that the Ministry in Bulgaria had faced at their hands; and given how quickly Bulgaria had fallen, the threat was very real indeed.

Of course, this panic was not new. Ever since the Quibbler had run its story about the return of Harry Potter and the Fall of Bulgaria, the Auror Office had been in shambles. First, there had been a thorough investigation as to the integrity and validity of Robards' and Tonks investigation into their deaths. Pensieve memories, questioning under truth serum, the whole nine yards. They had undergone it all. Fortunately, they had come out of it squeaky clean and without suspicion of aiding the men, the younger of whom was now being heralded by the Daily Prophet as 'the greatest threat to our world since Grindelwald'.

On the other hand, Robards and Tonks had been able to finally close the files on those two missing persons cases. There were no remains to exhume, unfortunately, as Fudge had ordered the bodies burned and the ashes tossed through the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries mere hours after they had been transported from Azkaban to the Ministry.

All of this though, was what led to Gawain having to sit in on a meeting of all senior Aurors, as well as the Head Auror, Scrimgeour; Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Crouch Sr.; the Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge; Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Umbridge; Head of the Minister's Personal Security, Albert Runcorn; Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, Cuthbert Mockridge and Deputy Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, Dirk Cresswell.

Gawain trudged into the Level Two conference room and dropped heavily into a chair. He took a moment to roll the sleeves of his white button-down up to his elbows and loosen the plain red tie he had worn that day.

To his right, Williamson sat down with a sigh and to his left sat Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror who had been present at Malfoy Manor before the Anti-Death Eater Task Force had arrived on the scene, though what he, and James and Sirius and Tonks had all been doing there was never publicly specified. From what Gawain had heard, they were all part of some little group that's sole purpose was to fight the Death Eaters; much like the Task Force, but in a far less official capacity, though Tonks had apparently defected from this group and joined up with Potter. Or at least that was the rumour around the Office. Not that Gawain was keen on believing rumours.

Then again, he had had confirmation on that from Tonks herself. Ever since they had been paired off to confirm the deaths of Potter and Crouch, they had been forced into a sort of 'partnership' within the Auror Office. More often than not, if either of them had a case that required two Aurors, they were paired together for that case. And so, over the last four years, they had developed a sort of friendship. Not a particularly close one by most standards - or at least to the outside eye - but you can't work that closely with someone for that long and not at least be friends. They weren't the type of friends to go hang out on their days off or visit each other's homes, but they did go out for pints at least a couple of times a week after work; and they were never bored with each other's company.

Gawain wasn't really complaining. Tonks was a nice girl, and by far not the least competent partner he'd ever had. That bastard Dawlish took that prize. It wasn't that the man was stupid or bad at the job, it's just that he was a glory-hound and a complete and utter brown-noser. A sycophant of the worst kind, willing to do anything to get on the good side of the brass and the Minister himself. Gawain had actually laughed when Runcorn, a relatively unknown member of the DMLE, working under Crouch as the overseer for the visitors' way-points in the Atrium, had been selected to take over as the Head of Fudge's personal security over Dawlish, who had also applied for the position. The sour expression on Dawlish's face for the week afterwards was priceless, and Gawain, as well as Tonks, had enjoyed every moment of it.

Speaking of Dawlish, the blighter had just sat down on the opposite side of the table from Gawain and was grumbling to himself as he glared over the empty seat next to him at Runcorn, who either didn't notice or, more likely, didn't care; the big Scotsman wasn't one to be intimidated by a man like Dawlish.

Fudge, of course, sat down at the head of the table, with that toad Umbridge as his left side and Mockridge to his right, with Cresswell directly to Mockridge's right hand. Runcorn was seated to the left of Umbridge, though he didn't look too pleased with being so near the woman. Crouch was at the other end of the table, directly opposite from Fudge, with Scrimgeour to his left and Savage to his right. Raymond Lynch was next to Savage, Sirius next to Raymond, with James sitting between Sirius and Dawlish. To the left of Scrimgeour was Damian Lynch, then Williamson, then Robards, then Shacklebolt, who was next to Cresswell.

Everyone was seated, save for the one empty seat between Dawlish and Runcorn, but it looked like everyone was there, so Gawain was confused as to why they had yet to get the meeting underway.

He puffed his cheeks and blew out a loud breath, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression on his face, turning his gaze upward toward the ceiling, counting the black marble bricks there to give him something to do.

He was at fifty-seven when he grew bored and started reciting the ingredients and steps involved in the ritual to hear the voices of the dead. It was a dark ritual, being an offshoot of necromancy, and if done wrong could result the loss of one's soul. It was a very specific ritual too, only able to be performed on All Hallows Eve, within the small time-frame known as the Witching Hour. Gawain himself had performed the ritual only once, and he was not keen to ever do so again. The voices he had heard that night were far from human. Of course, that was another risk of the ritual; you might wind up hearing something other than the dead, something that had never been of this world and could only even come close when that veil between the mortal plane and the beyond was at its weakest.

Once he was done reciting that to himself, he started going through the different runic alphabets, naming the runes and their various uses in all relevant fields of magic.

He had gone through the Elder and Younger Futharks, the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc and was halfway through the Dalecarlian Runes when the door of the room opened and a tall man with short brown hair and a thick beard came in. He was of stocky build and dressed in a simple suit with waistcoat.

"Sorry I'm late, gentlemen," he said, ignoring Umbridge completely in his greeting. "I got caught up with that ponce down in Magical Transportation."

Fudge waved this off as the newcomer sat down in the one vacant chair. "Fear not, Tiberius, we have not started yet."

Now that he said the name, Gawain remembered who this was. Tiberius McLaggen, former representative for Britain in ICW. He had retired from the position some seven years ago and now worked for the Ministry in a non-official capacity. He was more of an adviser to the Minister and a personal friend of Scrimgeour, and both men often went to him for advice on a number of things; they were apparently hunting buddies as well, but that was neither here nor there.

"Now that we are all here, we can call this meeting to order," Fudge said, doing his best to appear as if he were not scared to death at the prospect of Harry Potter returning to England. "Now, as you all already know, Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr., are in fact not dead," he glanced at Gawain as he said this, silently blaming him for not catching on to the fact that the bodies had not been them. Gawain wasn't fazed, there had been no way to tell, and he had done his job to the letter, so he wasn't shouldering any blame, no matter how many people tried to lay it on him and Tonks. "I want to know what we plan to do about this problem."

"We have an alert out to all departments already," Crouch said. "Magical Transportation has been ordered to keep an eye on any and all magical travel in or out of the Kingdom. Unfortunately, all we can really do is wait and see where they pop up next."

Fudge did not look happy with this answer. "We cannot afford to wait and see. What if they come here? What do we do then?"

It was Savage who answered this time. "Minister, if Potter and Crouch come here, they will be met by the combined force of the entire Auror Office. Even they cannot stand up to all of us at once."

Scrimgeour nodded in agreement to his second-in-command. "On top of our own readiness, sir, we have been in contact with our friends in MACUSA, they have agreed to send not only Aurors Proudfoot and Graves back to us, but also an entire squad of their own Aurors from the New York branch. President Graves is aware of our concerns and has agreed to lend aid should things go in the direction they went in Bulgaria."

Savage went on again. "Ironically, Potter and Crouch did us a great favour in destroying the ICW." There was a general murmur of disagreement at this statement, but Savage went on as if he had not heard it. "Without the ICW, we need not wait for their approval before mobilizing a full response to the threat. Likewise, we need not get their approval for this agreement with MACUSA. So, thanks to Potter and Crouch, we now are able to easier move against them."

"Of course," Crouch said. "We must still go through official channels here in the Ministry for all actions, but I have put forth a request to reform the Anti-Death Eater Task Force in preparation to take the fight to Potter and my bastard son should they return to our shores. I would also ask to grant them special status, allowing them to operate free of the chain of command, able to mobilize and strike wherever and whenever they are needed. They will be under the direct command of Senior Auror Savage here."

"Excuse me," Umbridge said in that annoyingly sickly sweet voice of hers that made Gawain want to stab his own ears or cut her throat out, whichever was easier. "So sorry, but perhaps I heard you wrong. You want to create a team of Aurors that answer to no one save their commanding officer, this Savage?" Her voicing his name sounded more like an insult than an address. "Now, I might be wrong, but that would mean that they would not be answerable to even the Minister himself and we cannot afford to have rogue Aurors running about with no clear leadership. The liabilities of such actions far too great to even consider."

Savage smiled at the woman, but there was no warmth in it at all. "I assure you, Madam Undersecretary, I am more than capable of leading my team. I did so during the reign of Voldemort," All those except for the members of the Task Force and McLaggen flinched, "and I can do so again against this new threat." Umbridge opened her mouth to speak but Savage continued before she could. "Or are you questioning my loyalty to the Ministry?"

"Oh not at all," Umbridge simpered. "I'm sure you are more than steadfast in your allegiances. However, loyalty can change."

Savage grinned in a predatory manner. "I assure you, madam, that my loyalty is unwavering, and I know the limits of my station, and when I have forgotten my place. I would suggest you at least try to remember yours."

Umbridge's face flushed red as she opened her mouth to retort. Gawain groaned and stuffed his fingers in his ears in preparation for the shriek that was no doubt to come, but a glare from Fudge silenced the woman. "Enough of this," the Minister said in a rare show of assertiveness. "You will have your Task Force, Bartemius. I trust Auror Savage is more than qualified if both yourself and Rufus vouch for him."

Scrimgeour nodded. "I do. He is easily my best Auror. He will be a fine candidate to replace me when it comes time for me to retire."

Fudge nodded while Dawlish looked like he had just been told that Christmas was cancelled this year.

McLaggen cleared his throat softly. "Cornelius, Rufus, perhaps we should set some limitations on this Task Force. As much I hate to agree with Dolores, I cannot see how a team with complete immunity to the law is a good thin'. We have certain codes o' conduct in place for a reason an' while I am sure that Mr. Savage is an upstandin' gentleman, it is better to be safe in such things. Anythin' they do can reflect back on you both, an' if they step outside the bounds o' what is acceptable, it is the two o' you, not them, that will be blamed."

Fudge nodded, then looked at Scrimgeour. "He makes a point, Rufus, Bartemius. We need to set a few rules for this team. I have no problem with them acting without our direct involvement, but they must not act in a manner unbefitting of a representative of the Ministry of Magic."

Savage smiled. "You have nothing to fear, sir. My team and I will operate with the utmost decorum."

"Nevertheless," Fudge said. "I want it in writing. Have the paperwork drawn up and on my desk by the end of the day. I'll sign it and we can get on with business as usual. Runcorn, what are you doing to increase security with in the Ministry?"

The stocky Scotsman sat up a bit straighter and spoke in his low, gravely voice. "I have increased the number of guards on patrol, both during the daytime hours and on the night shifts. Enforced stricter shift-change practices and implemented a mandatory screening of all incoming and outgoing post. All office floo connections are being monitored for any suspicious communications as well. If Potter or Crouch try anything from within, we'll know it."

"Very good," Fudge seemed more relaxed now. "How are the Goblins responding to all of this?"

Mockridge leaned forward with his fingers steepled. He was a dark-skinned man with a commanding and strong presence, which was essential in dealing with Goblins. His voice was low, strong and steady. "They are unconcerned, Minister. The Director said that such problems are the problems of Wizards and Wizards alone and unless Potter and his ilk attack them directly, they will not get involved in any way. Without the ICW, all treaties we have with them are worthless. I have been working to keep our relations friendly, but the truth of the matter is that they are quite pleased that the ICW is gone. It gives them a stronger position from which to demand better treatment and rights within our society."

Fudge cursed under his breath. "Did they know that Potter and Crouch were, in fact, alive this whole time?"

Mockridge nodded. "They were. They did not tell us because, and I quote, we 'did not ask'. They were also aware that Regulus Black, a former Death Eater long believed dead, was still alive as well and did not say anything for the same reason."

"Filthy beasts," Umbridge sneered. "How dare they-"

"The Goblins," Cresswell - a slightly heavyset man with light brown hair and beard, hailing from Canada, who had immigrated to England after completing school - interrupted her before she could really get going. "Are the one's holding all of our funds, Madam Undersecretary, perhaps insulting them, even here, would not be wise."

"My associate speaks true," Mockridge agreed. "Despite their declaration of neutrality, we cannot ostracise the one's who control the whole of the gold in England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales."

Fudge's expression was pained. "Yes, yes. We must accept that the Goblins will be of no help in this fight and be content in the fact that they will not help Potter either." He looked across the table at Crouch. "I want the best of the Auror Office and our Hit-Wizards out in likely areas where Potter, Crouch or Black are likely to show up once they arrive here. I want all apparation points covered and I want Aurors on active patrol in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmead. Is that understood?"

Crouch nodded. "It will be done."

Fudge stood up. "Meeting adjourned," he said. "Tiberius, walk with me, please. I need your insight on a few matters. I've got the French and Germans breathing down my neck to secure trade agreements and military alliances. With the ICW gone, we are cast adrift."

Tiberius stood and nodded. "O' course, Minister," he agreed. "Please, lead on."

The two men left the room followed by Runcorn and Umbridge. Mockridge and Cresswell were quietly discussing potential ways to get the Goblins to take their side while trailing out the door after the first group,

"Stay seated, please," Scrimgeour said as Gawain started to stand up to go back to his desk. Gawain sighed and dropped back into his chair. "Now, as you just heard, we are going to be reforming the Task Force, all old members will be reinstated, including Graves and Proudfoot when they return, and Dawlish and Shacklebolt are now part of this team as well. Auror Savage is in charge and will answer only to myself and Mister Crouch. All rules regarding the ethical treatment of prisoners as well as the right to habeas corpus are suspended until further notice, but only within the confines of this group. Now, I want you all out there, keep your eyes and ears open for anything suspicious. If you see Potter or Crouch, do not engage without first contacting Auror Savage. Are there any questions?"

Gawain raised his hand. "So let me get this straight, we can arrest and hold and even torture anyone, regardless of whether they have done something wrong simply because they may or may not have a connection to Potter or Crouch?"

Crouch Sr. frowned at this question, and Savage raised a brow. It was Scrimgeour who responded to his fellow Welshman, however. "No. We cannot just go about arresting innocent civilians without just cause. We only detain someone if they are seen openly associating with Potter or Crouch, or we have reasonable suspicion of such. Conduct yourselves as gentlemen or you will be removed forthwith from both this team as well the Auror Corps and you will never work in law enforcement again. Now, are there any more questions? No. Then I leave them in your hands, Savage."

Scrimgeour and Crouch left the room now, leaving only the Senior Aurors behind.

Savage stood up. "I want you all out there in groups of two. Lynch and Lynch, I want you in Diagon Alley." The two brothers stood up and left the room to go where they were ordered. "Potter, Black, I want you two in Knockturn Alley. Potter and Crouch both have had contacts there in the past. Keep an eye out for them." The two best friends nodded and left as well. "Dawlish, Shacklebolt, I want you two in Hogsmead. Potter has a history with the place and he might try to make a play for Hogwarts. Also, Albus Dumbledore's sole remaining family lives in the village, keep an eye on him." The two newest members of the Task Force left as well. "Williamson, you are with me. We will be patrolling the Ministry itself, just in case they try to attack us directly. Robards, I want you in Godric's Hollow. Potter's lover and mother live there and he may try to make contact. Take Tonks with you. She and Potter were close, and I want eyes on her. Can I trust you with this?"

Robards nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir." He stood up. "I shan't let her far from my sight."

Savage nodded. "Good. Do not fail me."

Gawain left the room and sighed. "I'm starting to wonder whose the dark lord around here." He shook his head as he made his way back into the Auror Office, nodding to Ellie Wakanda, the receptionist and dispatch officer, on his way into the bull-pen. "Tonks, love, get your coat, we're on assignment."

Tonks looked up from her paperwork, purple hair falling to frame her pretty, heart-shaped face. "Where to?" she asked, standing up and grabbing her long coat off the back of her chair.

Gawain unrolled the sleeves of his shirt, then grabbed his own trench coat and stuffed his arms into the sleeves, checking to make sure he had all of the necessities. Cigarettes? Check. Notebook? Check. Muggle pen? Check. Extra pack of cigarettes? Check. All good. "We've been ordered to keep an eye on the residence of Hermione Granger and Lily Evans, in case Potter tries to make contact with them."

Tonks face fell slightly. She'd been up and down in her moods for a short while now. Ever since the news of Potter's return went public, now that Gawain thought about it. One minute she'd be smiling and just generally friendly Nymphadora Tonks, then she get this look in her eye and her expression would take on a sad and resigned state. It was a bit worrying for the Welshman. He liked Tonks, she was a good mate, but he didn't know where to stand on this matter. On one hand, he was a member of the Task Force, and thus it was his objective to take down Potter; on the other hand, Tonks was his friend and he knew what sort of feelings she had for Potter and this job would not be easy on her. He mentally struggled to find a balance between both sides, but one way or another, things would not end well, of that he was certain.

She seemed to notice that he was looking at her with concern because she immediately straightened up and plastered a winning smile on her face. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get to Cornwall!"

She punched him lightly on the shoulder and cavorted past him toward the exit to the lifts, promptly tripping over the corner of the desk. Gawain shook his head fondly as he helped her back to her feet. She smiled a more genuine smile this time, but it still wasn't quite right. If he didn't know her better from having worked with her for four years now, he might have been convinced by that fake smile. As it was, he saw right through it, and it did nothing to alleviate his concern for the younger Auror.

She scampered around him and headed toward the door.

He sighed and trudged after her, pulling out a cigarette and stuffing it between his lips, lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

He found Tonks waiting by the lift as he made his way out. She crinkled her nose at the smell of cigarette smoke. "How many times do I have to tell you that those will kill you before you finally quit?"

Gawain shrugged and took a drag, exhaling the smoke upward. "At least a thousand more times, love." Tonks rolled her eyes as the lift doors opened and the two stepped inside, requesting the Atrium. The lift attendant looking disapprovingly at Gawain smoking but the Welshman ignored it. "So, before we get out there, there's a few things we need to go over."

Tonks looked over at him with a raised brow. "Yeah? Like what?"

Gawain shrugged as the lift opened again and they stepped out into the crowded and loud Atrium. "For starters, I need to know that you can do what may be needed to be done. I'm no fool, Tonks, I know you've got a particular fondness for The-Boy-Who-Lived." Tonks opened her mouth to deny this, but Gawain's sharp glance silenced her. "You may be able to change your features, mate, but you can't hide your emotions all that well. Now, if these feelings of yours are going to be a problem like they were at Azkaban, tell me now."

Tonks looked down as she walked beside him to the apparation point. "I don't know. I don't want to fight him, but if I have to, I guess I can do it...just don't ask me to kill him."

Gawain looked at her for a long moment. He knew the feeling she had. She loved Potter, he could see it. He also knew what it was like to kill the one you love, and he would not wish that feeling on anyone. "I am not cruel, Tonks."

Tonks nodded. "No, I know. You're a good mate, Gawain. Thanks."

He nodded. "Do you think Potter will go to Godric's Hollow? You know him best of us here, what can you tell me?"

Tonks sighed and brushed her hair behind her ears. "Honestly, Harry can be very unpredictable when he wants to be. It makes it hard to guess what he'll do next. It would be the most obvious place for him to go. I mean, his mother, girlfriend and son are there. But, then again, he might expect us to have it under watch and go somewhere else altogether to keep us off of his trail and his family out of the line of fire. How do we know that he isn't already here?"

"We don't," Gawain admitted. "Given how long it took for news of the events in Paris to reach us, and the fact that at best it took him a couple of hours to get here, he could have easily already been in England before the news even reached us."

"So, we could be out here for nothing?" Tonks questioned.

"Aye, we could be. However, most magical travel in and out of the country has been closely monitored since he appeared in Bulgaria. My guess though, is that he re-entered the country by non-magical means. That's how he avoided detection in France, from what I hear. They speculated he and the others stuck to the muggle side of Paris until the last minute."

"Harry knows enough about muggles to be able to blend in with them if he has to," Tonks said, remembering that he had mentioned once that Barty had insisted that he learn about muggles and their customs when he was still in training, even going so far as to make him watch muggle films and television programs.

Gawain was about to respond when a young man dressed in a muggle-style hooded shirt accidentally bumped into Tonks with a muttered 'sorry'. Tonks looked down at something in her hand, made to reply but before she could even open her mouth, she vanished on the spot as the young man said 'sorry' again. Gawain cried out as she disappeared and turned to the figure, who glanced back, most of his face hidden by the hood of his jacket. What he could see though was enough for Gawain to identify the man as Harry Potter. And the bastard was smirking like the cat who got the canary.

"Potter!" Gawain shouted, drawing his wand. Harry did the same, spinning to face the Welsh Auror, his clothes changing from the muggle-style into a sleek black outfit and robe, the beard on his face receding until he was clean-shaven and his short hair growing down to his shoulders. He had been using a glamour, Gawain realized.

Gawain fired a stunner at Harry, who easily deflected it to the side, where it impacted into a security wizard, who had been running toward the commotion. The man dropped to the ground in a heap and someone screamed. Suddenly, chaos overtook the Atrium and people began fleeing in every direction, some flooing out, others rushing to the apparation area.

Gawain ignored all of this and kept his eyes on Potter, slinging spells at him with rapid motions. Harry deftly blocked or parried each attack, sending a few back toward Gawain, who batted them away whilst maintaining his assault.

Stunner, stunner, disarming charm, block, parry, dodge, stunner, cutting curse, dodge, block, block, knockback jinx, stunner, disarming charm, block, stunner. The fight went back and forth like this for a few long moments, and Gawain realized that Harry was avoiding using lethal curses, though he couldn't fathom why.

He decided to test something. The Killing Curse could not be blocked or deflected by magic, it could only be avoided or blocked with an inanimate object. If Harry were to dodge one, it would run the risk of hitting any of the innocent witches or wizards running about the room around them.

Gawain aimed his wand. " _Avada Kedavra_!"

The jet of green light sped toward Harry at an alarming rate and Gawain thought for a second that this duel was going to end right there and then, but at the last moment, the stand that held copies of the morning Prophet flew in between Harry and the curse, the stand being mostly destroyed by the spell, then being discarded with a wave of a hand.

Gawain's mind raced. Had Harry tried to dodge the curse, someone would have died, there was no doubt about it, but instead of letting someone else take the curse for him, he had summoned an inanimate object from several metres away to block the curse. This was a marked difference between the man he was fighting and the Death Eaters he had fought in the past. The Death Eaters would have had no qualms about letting the curse kill an innocent, but Harry actively sought to avoid that. Which was why he was not using lethal spells of his own, not even a cutting curse.

Harry growled as the debris from the impact of the Killing Curse settled. Gawain met his eyes and nodded, acknowledging that this was not a duel to the death, at least not so long as there were innocent peoples about. Harry nodded back, seeming satisfied that Gawain and he were now on the same page.

They settled back into their duelling stances, Gawain shrugging off his coat for greater mobility. He had lost his cigarette at some point too, but that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. "What have you done with Tonks?" he demanded, rolling up his shirt sleeves again.

Harry smirked. "I wouldn't worry about her, Robards, she is perfectly safe."

Gawain sneered. "As much as I'd like to believe that, you'll understand if I don't take your word for it."

Harry cocked his head at the Auror. "Curious. You actually seem concerned for her."

"Of course I'm bloody concerned!" Gawain spat. "She's my friend. Now, what did you do with her?"

Harry shook his head. "She'll be fine. I may even let her come back once I'm done with her."

Gawain growled and fired a flurry of curses at the younger man. Harry blocked the lot and fired a full-body bind at Gawain, the spell shooting out from within the mass of his own curses to strike him square in the stomach. Gawain cursed as he felt his limbs stiffen and he fell onto his back.

He heard footsteps and a moment later, Harry Potter stood over him, gazing down at him curiously. "I should kill you now," he said, his hand tightening around his wand. "However, I am not here to spill magical blood. Not today. There will be more than enough blood shed before this is over; and our mutual friend may not let me survive if I did. Rest assured, Auror Robards, no harm shall befall Nymphadora, you have my word." He waved his hand and Gawain could move again, but before he could sit up, Harry Potter was gone.

"Clear the way!" the voice of Savage shouted as he and Williamson ran into the Atrium with a squad of Aurors, the few remaining people in the Atrium scurried to get out of their way. The leader of the Task Force was at Gawain's side in second. "Robards, what happened?"

Gawain groaned as he climbed to his feet, plucking his wand from the floor on his way up. "It was Potter," he hissed. "Tonks and I were going to the apparation point, when he came out of the crowd and put something in Tonks' hand and said 'sorry'. It must have been a portkey of some sort because as soon as he said 'sorry' she was gone. I didn't recognize him at first. He was wearing a glamour to change his clothes and grow a beard. I engaged him in a duel, but as you can see, he came out on top. Sir, he's a lot faster than he used to be."

Savage cursed and started barking orders at the Aurors present. He turned back to Gawain. "I want you to get to Godric's Hollow and see if he turns up there. I can't spare anyone else, so you're on your own.

Gawain nodded. "Aye, sir." He practically ran to the apparation point. His mind was racing with worry for Tonks. He doubted that Potter would hurt her, but he couldn't push down the twisting in his stomach.

 **XXXX**

Harry walked down the slope and through the wards. He took a moment to glance about at the carvings on the wall but did not pause. He went through the winding corridor, hearing the sounds of voices overlapping coming from ahead of him. He saw the light of the torches they had set up before anything else. He rounded the corner and into the first chamber of the barrow and was immediately impacted by a brown-haired, brown-eyed missile by the name of Hermione Granger.

Her arms locked around his neck and her face was buried into his shoulder. "You came back," she whispered against his collarbone and Harry could feel tears soaking the front of his robes. "I waited. I waited so long. You're really back."

Harry brought his arms up and wrapped them around the shaking woman, who turned her face into the side of his neck. "I'm sorry it took so long," he whispered as he lowered his head down to her own neck, his lips brushing against the soft, smooth skin there. "I wanted to come back sooner, but circumstances did not allow for it. You would have insisted on joining me, and I couldn't allow you to put yourself at risk, especially not after I learned of our son. If things had gone badly, he would have needed at least one parent in his life, and you would not have had to mourn me twice."

Hermione nodded against his neck. "I understand." She pulled back and looked up at him. "Which is why I'm sorry for this." Harry didn't have time to question what she was talking about before she had drawn back and punched him square in the face.

He cried out and stumbled back a step, his hands going up to his face as he felt his nose break. His eyes filled with tears in response to the sudden pain, but he refused to let them fall, though a few escaped in spite of his efforts. "Blimey, Hermione," he muttered. "I deserved that." he touched his nose tenderly and winced as sharp pain shot through it.

Hermione nodded primly. "Yes you did. _Episkey_." Harry gasped as his nose was suddenly popped straight again, going cold and then warm within a few seconds, then back to normal. She then walked up and hit him in the chest, hard, but Harry barely flinched at the impact, despite the fact that it actually did hurt, a bit. "That's for coming to our home and not even bothering to give me some sort of sign you were still alive! Four years, Harry, FOUR YEARS! Do you know how much I was hurting? How many tears I cried for you? How many days I spent looking at pictures of you so that I wouldn't forget what you looked like? DO YOU?" she had tears running down her cheeks at this point, again, and Harry could see anger in her eyes. He had known that she would be hurt, and he had expected anger, so this wasn't surprising; it still made him feel like scum though.

Harry nodded. "I do, actually. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of you, and dream of you. Every day I wanted to just say to hell with it all and come back here, to you. But, I was needed and I couldn't just abandon them."

Hermione looked him in the eye. " _We_ needed you."

"I know," Harry said softly. "You probably won't find this an adequate reason, but the only reason I fought this battle was for you and Hugo. To protect you both, and hopefully help build a world actually worth living in, one where I'm not hunted and hounded by the law everyday. I did this so that we can be a proper family, without always having to run or fight."

Hermione took a long, deep breath, then let it out slowly after a count of ten. "Look, I understand why you did it, believe me, I do, but that doesn't make it hurt any less." She stepped up to him and clasped her hands behind his head. "I think, I can forgive you though, this time."

She pulled him down, planting her lips directly to his. The kiss lasted only a moment, but to the two of them it felt like an eternity. Finally, they broke apart, both gasping for breath, eyes devouring each other hungrily.

"If we were alone here, I'd take you here and now," Harry growled lowly, sending a jolt of warmth through Hermione's body, settling in her lower abdomen.

"I'm tempted to let you," she replied breathlessly. "Audience be damned." She chuckled. "But, let's not scar our son like that."

Harry nodded and dipped his head to kiss her again, her mouth opening to him willingly. He groaned into her mouth. Gods, she was like a drug that he couldn't, and didn't want to, kick. Hermione's thoughts ran along a similar path – what few coherent thoughts she had, that was.

A clearing of a throat broke them apart again. They turned to find the rest of the occupants of the room – Barty, Regulus, Charlie, Luna, Rolf, Bill, Fleur, Victoire Nymphadora, Hugo, Pansy, Scorpius and Lily – looking at them with a mixture of amusement and annoyance; except for Hugo, who had his eyes covered with his hands, and Nymphadora whose eyes were fixed firmly on the floor at her feet, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

Harry noticed this reaction from the girl he had just abducted from the Ministry and sighed to himself. He'd have to have a long talk with Tonks sooner rather than later. Hermione noticed this too and leaned over to whisper into his ear. "Let her down easy, Harry. Please."

Harry's green eyes met Hermione's chocolate brown and he nodded. "I had planned to," he whispered back. "But first, I'd like to meet my son, properly this time."

Hugo suddenly looked nervous and tried to back away and slip behind Lily. However, before he could get more than a step back, Victoire gave him a gentle push toward Harry. Hugo looked at his friend with a scared expression, but the little blonde girl just smiled encouragingly and nudged him forward again. Scorpius, who was standing on the other side of Hugo, rolled his eyes and shoved Hugo forward.

Hugo stumbled out of the group and almost fell, but righted himself at the last second. He stilled as he noticed a pair of booted feet in front of him and he slowly looked up to find Harry gazing down at him with an unreadable expression.

Father and son held each other's gaze for a long moment, neither blinking. Finally, Harry sighed and crouched down so that he was eye-to-eye with Hugo. "Do you know who I am?" Harry asked softly.

Hugo nodded, too nervous to speak, not that he was the most loquacious child under the best of circumstances.

Harry nodded back. "We've met before. I doubt you remember, you were just a baby at the time, but even then I could see myself in you."

"Why did you leave?" Hugo asked so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear it, even with his enhanced hearing.

Harry sighed. "That is a long story, son," he said. "I will tell you all of it one day, but for now, just know that I will never leave you again. Not so long as my lungs draw breath and my heart still beats."

Hugo nodded his head after only a moment of hesitation, then Harry wrapped his arms around his son, drawing him into a tight but gentle hug. Hugo buried his face into Harry's chest, much as Hermione had, his small hands grasping the front of Harry's robes like a lifeline.

Hermione had tears in her eyes as she watched her son and his father interact for the first time. She wasn't the only one. Lily too had tears in her eyes and Pansy was looking like she might join them, Fleur had her youngest child in her arms and was hugging the little girl to her own chest, smiling fondly at the sight in front of her. Tonks had an expression that was somewhere between happy and distraught. She was happy for Harry, who looked so happy himself as he hugged his son for the first time, but she could feel her own heart breaking. She knew it would happen, but it was suddenly all so real and she felt selfish for feeling hurt right there in that moment. Barty had a thoughtful expression on his face, but there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked on with almost fatherly pride. Charlie just watched respectfully and a small smile on his face and Bill had a knowing look in his eye. He had been much the same way when he had first held both of his daughters. As for Regulus, he had a proud stance and he was looking on in brotherly approval. In the case of Hugo's best friends, Victoire was smiling widely at her favourite friend and Scorpius was smiling but looked more than a little jealous. His own father was still in Azkaban after all, along with both of his remaining grandparents. Hugo now had both parents and his grandmother.

Luna smiled as Rolf leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She looked up at her lover and nodded, making Rolf smile wider and kiss her temple affectionately. He then had a thought and pulled out his camera, taking a few photos of the reunion of father and son.

Harry finally pulled back from the hug and leaned his forehead against Hugo's. "My son, my heir, blood of my blood."

Hermione lowered herself to the ground beside the two and wrapped her arms around them both, leaning her own head against theirs. Her boys. Lily walked over and placed her hands on Harry and Hugo's shoulders, squeezing Harry's slightly in motherly affection. Harry felt another hand on his other shoulder and knew that it was Barty and Regulus had his own hand on Barty's. Another flash lit up the barrow as Rolf's camera captured the image of a family reunited.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Well, there's another chapter down. Let me know what you all think.**

 **I had a bit of writers block when writing this chapter. I knew this would be a big moment, a very important chapter, but I didn't know how to go about it. I had done a family reunion chapter in part one, but the undertones of that chapter were very different in that Harry had no love for his family at the time. This time, he is overcome by emotion, which I underplayed for a reason. It's why he doesn't just come out and say 'I love you' to Hermione and Hugo. He's been dreaming of this moment for so long, that he doesn't know what to do now that it is finally here. Hugo, likewise is unsure how to respond and shows his introversion. It's up to Hermione to be the emotional one.**

 **I was going to have the Harry and Tonks talk in this chapter, but it felt tacked on at the end and that scene is a very important one too because it will have a profound effect on who Tonks becomes for the rest of this story. So, I took it and placed it in the next chapter.**

 **Malcolm, Tiberius, Scabior and Robards all return next chapter as well.**

 **Important characters introduced:**

 **Albert Runcorn [portrayed by David O'Hara]**

 **Cuthbert Mockridge [portrayed by Idris Elba]**

 **Dirk Cresswell [portrayed by Donal Logue]**

 **Pansy Parkinson [portrayed by Amanda Seyfried]**

 **Character images can be found on my deviantART page, under the name 'God of Death Fanfic Cast' by IamAtrocity.**

 **Until next time.**


	18. A Parting of Ways

**XVIII. A Parting of Ways**

Harry heard the footsteps before anything else. They echoed softly down the corridor behind him. He recognized them easily and knew that they were meant to be heard, otherwise he likely wouldn't have heard them at all.

He pulled back from the embrace he was in with his family and stood, turning to the entrance to the chamber. Hermione stood with him, going to his side. "What's the matter?"

Harry shook his head as the figure came around the corner and eyed them. His gaze landed on Hermione. "Hello, beautiful," he smirked, then turned his eyes to Harry, who had tensed when Scabior addressed Hermione in such a fashion. Hermione latched onto Harry's arm in an effort to restrain him as the snatcher spoke. "Did you enjoy that little stunt you pulled at the Ministry? You've got the entire system in an uproar. Aurors dispatched to Diagon Alley and the security in the Ministry itself tripled. Our mutual friends are none too happy at the moment, you should know."

"Indeed, we are not," Tiberius said, walking into the room, his face a mask of displeasure. "Thought you'd have a bit o' fun, did you? Cause a scene? Get everyone's attention?" He smiled without joy. "Well, if that was your plan, you certainly did that." He stalked forward and jabbing Harry in the chest with a finger. "You best count yourself lucky that I managed to do some damage control before comin' here. Even before you pulled your little stunt." He and Harry glared at each other for a moment.

"Tread lightly, Tiberius," Harry said softly. "You overstep."

"I don' step far enough!" Tiberius shouted, his powerful voice filling the room. "Look, I know tha' Bulgaria an' France were easy for you. So simple. The difference here is this: we don' get to leave when this is all over. We don' get the luxury of topplin' a Minister or destroyin' a government body an' then leavin' the destruction for someone else to deal with! This is our home, an' we need to be careful abou' how be proceed from here. Had you laid low an' let us get thin's settled first, we wouldn' have fuckin' MACUSA sendin' a squad o' their best Aurors over here firs' thin' tomorrow! The Ministry ain' muckin' about this time. They mean to destroy you for good this time. An' when they catch you, an' they will, they'll have that bastard Lynch go through your mind an' then it won' be just your head on the choppin' block, we'll all be right there beside you. Me, Mal, Fergus, Scabior, Arnold, hell, even your mum an' woman. Your son will be right there too."

Harry glared at the bigger man but part of him knew he was right. "Then we'll just have to proceed with caution."

"Well, if that ain' the understatement o' the fuckin' century!" Tiberius scoffed. "What do-"

"That's enough, Tiberius," a new voice cut through the big man's words, the calm, commanding Scottish brogue familiar and welcome.

"Malcolm?" Hermione asked, her voice rising in her confusion.

Malcolm smiled warmly at Hermione. "Hello, my dear, how are you today?" Hermione's mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Malcolm nodded as if that were all the answer he needed from her. "Yes, I quite agree. It's been a rather trying day for us all, I'm afraid. Scabior, stop lurking and go watch the front. There shouldn't be anyone else coming to this little get-together, so if someone shows up, I want them captured for questioning, no matter whose face they wear, got it?"

The snatcher nodded and darted back the way they had come.

Malcolm turned back to Harry and the rest of the group and smiled. "Now, I'm sure Tiberius has already informed you all of the unfortunate effect your retrieval of Miss Tonks had on the Ministry. Indeed, MACUSA are sending Proudfoot and Graves back over here with a squad of eight Senior Aurors to accompany them. As you all know, the Americans have one of the best Auror forces in the world, but we've got allies too, so I don't think we need worry too much yet. On top of that, we have safe houses where we can hide you all. Hermione, you and your son will have to return to Godric's Hollow, I'm afraid. Ms. Parkinson, the same goes for you and your son. You must go about business as usual, otherwise the Ministry will assume you have taken back up with Harry and will see fit to detain you without trial until further notice. A state of emergency is now in effect. The Task Force that they used to fight Voldemort is now hunting Harry and the rules that govern the treatment of prisoners as well as right to habeas corpus have been suspended for this team. They answer only to the Head Auror and the Head of the DMLE."

"How do you know that?" Barty asked. "It hasn't even been thirty minutes since Harry got here."

Tiberius spoke this time, looking far calmer than he had been moments before. "The Task Force was reassembled before Harry's appearance in the Atrium. I was privy to the meetin' where Fudge allowed it. I also managed to eavesdrop on a bit o' the later conversation by way o' these handy little gadgets that Weasleys Wizard Wheezes cooked up. Jus' a little thin' really, but it comes in useful."

"Harry, Barty, we're going to be putting you up at Tiberius' country home. It isn't too far from here. Regulus can take you there and get you both settled in," Malcolm said. "It has the added convenience of being our meeting location here in the Kingdom, so you won't be out of the loop."

"If Harry is going there, then so am I," Hermione said, finally finding her voice.

Malcolm shook his head. "That would not be wise."

"I don't care about wise," Hermione snapped. "I've been away from him for six years, _six years_ , and I refused to be separated from him any longer. My son needs his father. You have a son, Malcolm, you know what I mean."

Malcolm met her gaze evenly, but there was a bit of conflict in his expression. Finally, after a long moment of silence where the two engaged in a silent battle of wills, Malcolm nodded with a sigh. "Very well. It is entirely possible that your absence from Godric's Hollow has already been noticed, in which case, it would be best not to put you where the enemy can get to you."

"Won't they get suspicious though, if we aren't at home any more?"Lily asked, frowning.

"It's a risk we'll have to take," Harry said, and Malcolm nodded to show that he agreed with Harry. "Better to have you all where you are safe than risk the Aurors taking you to get to us. Pansy and Scorpius should be fine though, as they were never associated with me as allies."

"What about Bill and Fleur?" Hermione asked, looking at the other family.

"Shell Cottage is heavily warded and set to give early warning in case anyone not keyed into the wards tries to cross the property line. Charlie and I also created emergency portkeys to take us to a secondary secured location."

Charlie hummed in agreement. "We'll be fine," he said simply, his voice calm and sure.

"We aren't even officially in the country," Luna said happily, her silver eyes seeming to glow like small moons in the low light of the room. "So, you don't have to worry about us either." She swung her arm, her hand clasped in Rolf's, to emphasize just who 'we' and 'us' meant.

"What about Regulus?" Barty asked, looking at the third brother. "You said he'd get us settled in, but you didn't say anything beyond that."

"Regulus will be moving about from time to time," Malcolm said. "He's the only one amongst us that can move about without being noticed. Few people take heed of a raven flying about."

"I'll call Dobby and Kreacher to get whatever you need from the house," Harry told Hermione, Lily and Hugo as he turned from the conversation. "As soon as we get where we're going."

Hermione nodded and took hold of his hand, her other hand clutching Hugo's.

Hugo looked up at his mother with a slight frown. "Does this mean I don't get to play with Victoire and Scorpius?"

Hermione smiled down at the little boy. "Only for a little while. I'm sure we can figure something out, honey."

Hugo nodded and tugged his hand free from hers and wandered off toward where his friends were still standing. Harry watched as his son spoke to the two blonde children, seeing the girl's face fall and the Malfoy boy's grow annoyed. After a moment more of exchanged words, Victoire hugged Hugo tightly, Hugo returning the embrace after a short second of hesitation.

"He's quite fond of her," Hermione said quietly, watching the children end their hug. "He just doesn't realize it yet. He isn't the type for physical affection. Actually, he reminds me a bit of you when we first met. I remember Lily hugging you and you looked like you were trying not to just kill everyone in the room."

Harry chuckled. "That's exactly what I was doing. I remember thinking that it'd be a lot easier to just start throwing Killing Curses than endure all of the crying and hugging."

Harry felt a hand slap him on the arm and turned to face his mother, who was scowling at him now. "I don't see you for sixteen years and when I do, the only thing you were thinking of was whether or not to kill us all then and there?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't though."

"You thought about it," she countered.

"Well, yeah," Harry said uncomfortably. "I was working for Voldemort at the time, and I didn't know any of you as anything more than members of the Order, two of whom happened to be my biological parents. Is it really so surprising that that's what I was thinking? Then you hugged me and I was panicking. I didn't do open displays of affection. I still don't; with a few rare exceptions. Besides, killing is easier than feeling."

Lily huffed and turned away from them, crossing her arms over her chest. Barty and Regulus walked over then, the former shooting a smile at Lily, who just raised a brow at him, still looking a bit peeved.

"We're ready to head out," Regulus said. "I'll take Hugo and Hermione first, then, come back for the rest of you."

Harry nodded as the others started filing out. Each of them stopping to tell Harry where they'd be if they were needed, even though that information had already been shared. Harry got a small surprise when Pansy hugged him before leaving, thanking him for sparing her and her son all those years ago. Scorpius had just kind of narrowed his eyes at him, as if warning him to watch himself around his mum. Harry had met the boy's eyes evenly until the little brat couldn't hold his gaze any more and looked away. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Finally, it was just Harry, Hermione, Barty, Regulus, Lily, Hugo and Tonks left.

Tonks was lingering back, knowing instinctively that there were things that needed to be said between her and Harry before things could progress. Regulus took hold of Hermione's arm and Hugo's hand. Before they apparated, Hermione looked at Harry and said, "Go easy." Then they were gone, leaving just Barty, Lily and Harry with Tonks.

Regulus reappeared and vanished again with Lily and Barty.

Harry looked over at Nymphadora, who raised her eyes too meet his gaze. Harry could see pain, and fear, there. So much hurt, but also love. It was the last one that would make this difficult to do.

Regulus reappeared and Harry swivelled his head toward him. "Nymphadora and I have some things we need to discuss," he said. "Wait for me outside, would you?"

Regulus frowned and looked between Harry and Tonks, eyes narrowing before he finally nodded and left the room, looking back for just a second before disappearing from sight.

Harry and Nymphadora stood in silence as they both waited for the sound of Regulus' footsteps to recede.

Finally, after a few minutes, Harry could no longer hear them and he sighed, lifting his gaze back to Nymphadora, who was wringing her hands in front of her. "Look, Harry, I-"

Harry raised a hand to stop her from speaking, then made a 'come here' motion. She hesitated, but Harry made the motion again, more insistent this time, so she swallowed thickly, then walked slowly over to him.

He kept his hand extended, a silent invitation for her to take hold of it, and when she did, her smaller hand trembling slightly, he gently pulled her in close and wrapped her up in a tight hug. Nymphadora stiffened for a second before melting into the embrace and burying her face into his shoulder, much as Hermione had done earlier, her hands, now free, twisting into the back of his coat.

She couldn't help the tears that started falling as sobs racked her form.

She could feel that this embrace was not one to encourage her. No, it was an attempt to comfort before the real pain started. To soften the blow that was to come.

"I'm sorry, Nymphadora," Harry said softly, still holding her tight. "I'm so sorry."

Nymphadora nodded her head jerkily, her sobs preventing her from speaking.

"I never meant for this to happen to you," Harry went on. "You're my friend, one of the first, and I would never wish this pain on you."

Tonks took a deep breath, steeling herself. She knew it would do little good, but she felt the need to do it anyway. Just once. "I love you," she whispered, turning her face toward his neck slightly.

Harry nodded, feeling an unusual tightness in his chest as he heard the sorrow and grief, but also the utmost sincerity behind those three simple words. "I know," he whispered back, tightening his hold on her. "I know."

"I wanted to tell you," Nymphadora went on. "Back before, when we were all together at your house. But, I never found a good time and...you had Hermione, so what chance did I have? I can even tell you when it started. Back when we came to visit over the holidays, remember? It was just harmless flirting but...I wanted more. I thought you did too, but it was just a joke. A prank. That's why I hit you."

Harry smiled at the memory. She had broken his nose for that one. Looking back, he admitted to himself that had Hermione not been there, he probably would have slept with Nymphadora that day. She was a beautiful woman, with a good heart, not to mention strong. Sure, it had been all in good fun, but he hadn't actually meant to hurt her. Her hitting him, he had thought it was just from embarrassment. Seems he was wrong. Seems he didn't see everything.

"I deserved it," Harry admitted. "I hadn't meant to hurt you. Even now, I don't mean to, even though I am. Don't think that it is a fault with you. No. It's not you at all. You are a beautiful and strong woman, Nymphadora Tonks, and I have no idea what I did to make you love me. I won't say that I don't love you, but you must know that it is not the same. You are my friend, a dear and most loyal friend. You are precious to me."

Nymphadora sniffed and burrowed her face deeper against him. "Do you think, had things been different, we could have been together?"

Harry sighed, having just thought that exact thing just moments ago. "Yes, I do," he said simply. A fresh wave of tears fell from Nymphadora's eyes at these words. It hurt even more, knowing that she had had a chance but missed it. "However, it is not wise to dwell on the hypothetical and 'what if'. We can't change the past, Nymphadora. There's no use looking back, we aren't going that way. Eyes on the horizon."

Nymphadora laughed slightly. "How many more platitudes do you have?"

Harry smirked. "At least ten or fifteen more. Want to hear them?"

Tonks shook her head. "No. Not really." She sighed. "Can you just...hold me, like this, for a few minutes longer?"

Harry knew he shouldn't, but right now, he couldn't say no, so he just squeezed her a bit tighter. "I can do that."

And so, for a few more moments, they both stood there, arms wrapped securely around each other, no sound save for their breathing filling the room. One of them, thinking that they wished they never had to let go, and the other wishing that this had never had to happen.

Harry wasn't the most empathetic of men, but he knew that there would be no easy way past this for his friend. Him, he would go back to Hermione and his son and life would progress as normal, he'd have to try and keep Barty's natty hands off of his mum, and work with Malcolm and the others to move their plans forward, but her, she'd have to find a way to move forward and let go of these feelings. He knew, realistically, that she'd always love him. You don't just stop loving someone, it never truly goes away. Sure, you can fall out of love with someone, but you never really stop loving them. He just hoped that she'd find a way to fall out of love with him, and not prolong her suffering.

Finally, it was Nymphadora who pulled back first, but only far enough to look up into his face. She wiped her eyes, which were rimmed in bright red. "Thank you, Harry," she said, then leaned forward and placed a small, barely-there kiss upon his slightly parted lips, then stepped back out of his arms.

Harry nodded, having actually expected such a move, and therefore was not stunned by it. "What will you do now?"

Nymphadora shrugged. "I don't know. I'll probably just go back to work. Keep myself busy, you know, keep my mind off things. But, I'll be there, if you need me. Like you said, we're friends, and your fights are my fights."

Harry smiled softly. "Take care of yourself. If you're ever in any trouble, you know how to find me."

Nymphadora nodded, smiled one last time, then apparated on the spot, leaving Harry alone in the silence.

He looked around the room that he had spent weeks in after being rescued from Azkaban. He could almost still see where the fire had been, and their bedrolls, and the chair that Regulus liked to sit in and read. Where had the years gone? Oh, yeah, that's right, he had been at Nurmengard, learning from Grindelwald.

So much had changed since then. He could hardly believe how much.

Without even realizing it, his feet had started carrying him down the old, familiar path that led deeper into the barrow. Soon enough, he found himself in the room that housed the Archway.

He walked up the slope and stood before the ancient structure, still wondering what they were really for. Sighing, he stepped into the empty Arch and placed his hands on either side, his body directly between the two pillars. Nothing happened, just as nothing had happened the last time he was here.

"Harry?"

Harry turned toward to the entrance of the room to find Regulus standing there, looking at him with concern.

"What are you doing?" The eldest brother asked. "Where is Tonks?"

Harry waved a hand in a vague sort of way. "She went her own way for a bit."

Regulus nodded and climbed up to stand next to the Archway, which Harry was still standing inside of. "What did you too talk about?"

Harry shrugged. "Personal business, Regulus. I don't want to talk about it. It's between her and me, and no one else."

Regulus nodded but had a suspicious look in his eye. "Did you two shag?"

Harry raised a brow at his brother, startled by the question. "Beg pardon?"

Regulus met his gaze full-on. "You heard me, Harry. Now, I know you're a grown man now and capable of making your own decisions, but I would have thought you better than that."

Harry laughed. He actually laughed. "Oh, Reggie, this is good. You disappear for years on end, then show back up at the last minute, then disappear again, show up two years later, keep me in the dark about what was going on, and now you want to act like what? Like my father? You aren't my father, Reg, you aren't even my real brother. Just because I consider you one, doesn't give you the right to treat me like you know better than me." He glared. "And for the record, no, we didn't shag. We talked. That's what friends do when one of them is hurting. Now, any more baseless accusations you'd like to level at me before we go?"

Regulus sighed. "Right, sorry, Harry. You're right, I missed a lot of years with you and Barty. I regret that, but it couldn't be helped. You say that we're past that but you still resent me for it, even if you don't openly say it. I can see it. And, as for baseless accusations, I made a presumption based on what I saw. I saw the way she was looking at you the whole time we were in the room. I saw the glances you gave her. Then, you asked to be alone with her and I waited out there for a long time before I came to look for you. At least an hour. What was I supposed to think?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But, I'd have at least thought you knew me better than that."

Regulus sighed. "Yes, but remember, I was gone a while and you were left with just Barty as a role-model. And we all know how he is with women."

Harry managed to show a small smirk. "Yeah, we do. And speaking of, we need to get going before he tries to get my mum alone, or worse, offers her a banana."

"Oh, poor Lily," Regulus groaned.

As they started walking back toward the entrance of the barrow, Harry spoke up again. "Look, Regulus, a part of me is always going to resent the years you were absent from our lives, but you are still my brother, just like Barty is. And, if I can forgive Barty, even after all the times we fought against each other and the times he nearly killed me, I can forgive you for keeping your survival a secret. After all, what you did is basically the same as what I did to Hermione these past four years. She hasn't properly forgiven me for it, but she's just glad I'm actually back, just like I'm glad to have both of my brothers back with me. As for the situation with Nymphadora, it is really no one's business but mine and hers. To give you an idea though, so you don't go jumping to conclusions again, I just had to break her heart, and it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I don't know when we'll see her again, she'll need some time to herself to heal and move on, but she'll still be our friend when she does decided to come back."

Regulus nodded. "Right. Well, let's get you back to your family." They had reached the outside of the barrow now. They could have apparated from anywhere inside, but they had needed the time to talk. Regulus took hold of Harry's arm and the two men vanished from the spot.

 **XXXX**

Gawain leaned against the counter in his kitchen, a cold bottle of stout in his hand, and ran his other hand through his hair.

He had spent hours outside the Potter House in Godric's Hollow, but had seen neither hide nor hair of Hermione, Lily, Hugo, Harry, Barty or Tonks. And while he was concerned about the first three and annoyed about the second two, it was the last had had him truly worried.

He cursed himself for not stopping what had happened in the Atrium, had gone over it all in his head several times over the course of the day, but knew that there was nothing he could do about it now.

He took a long swig of his beer and sighed. Realistically, he doubted that Potter would harm the young woman, but a part of him just couldn't shake the thought that he might do just that. It surprised him, really, these dark thoughts. He had been one of the few within the Auror Office to argue against the unfair trial they had given the boy, but now, here he was, thinking that Potter might actually hurt his partner, a girl who had been a friend to the former Death Eater.

He was about to take another swig of beer when he heard a knock on his door. He frowned. Who the bloody hell could that be? None of his co-workers knew where he lived, except his superiors, and that was only in case of emergencies. He didn't have any friends, save for Tonks, and she fit firmly into the 'doesn't know where he lives' category.

He was instantly on alert as he set the beer down and drew his wand. He stalked from the kitchen toward the front door as the knocking sounded again. He placed the tip of his wand against the door at stomach-level.

"Who's there?" he demanded loudly. "Answer now or both you and this door leave here in pieces."

"It's me, Tonks, open the door!" A familiar, feminine voice answered.

He frowned. "Really? Then if it's really you, prove it. How did we meet?"

He heard a loud sigh through the door. "I came into the office after training, with Moody, and tripped over my own bootlace and crashed into your desk. Ended up with ink all over me, and you. I apologized profusely but you just said 'That's all right, love, no harm done, you just try to lift your feet when you walk from now on, eh?' My hair went bright red from embarrassment."

Gawain nearly laughed at the damned near spot-on imitation of his voice. Finally, he lowered the wand and opened the door to find a rather dejected-looking Nymphadora Tonks standing on his doorstep with her hands clasped together in front of her.

He felt a surprisingly strong surge of relief at seeing her alive and well and he was valiantly resisting the urge to hug her, and considering his thoughts just moments before, that was to be expected. His eyes unconsciously scanned her form for any injuries, but found none.

"Hey, Gawain," she greeted timidly.

It was at this moment, seeing her brown hair plastered to her skull and to her face, that Gawain realized that it was raining, not heavily, but enough that the walk from the property line to the door would leave her soaked to the bone. "Bleeding hell, Tonks, what are you doing out there. Get in here, get out of the rain before you catch your death."

Tonks rushed inside without having to be told twice. She looked around the room she was in, taking in the empty beer and whiskey bottles here and there, mostly near the couch, as well as a few old, crushed cigarette packs.

Gawain waved his wand and her clothing and hair were instantly dried. "Thanks," she muttered as he stowed his wand back into it's wrist holster.

He waved it off. "Think nothing of it, love. Now, what are you doing here? And how did you even find this place?" He wanted to ask what had happened after Potter had abducted her, but figured he'd best ease into that, rather than just jump right to it.

"I went to the office and went through the files until I found yours. It had your address in it. You really need to ward this place. I walked right up to the door."

Gawain smirked. "It is warded. Keeps out those who mean me harm or with bad intentions. And salesmen. You didn't answer my other question, what are you doing here?"

Tonks looked at her boots before raising her eyes back to his. It was only now that he could see the red-rimmed eyes, a tell-tale sign that she'd been crying recently. "I didn't know where else to go. I didn't want to go back to my flat, and my parents' house was right out of the question. The only other mates I have are wanted criminals, so you were my only other option."

Gawain snorted. "Well, I am basically the patron saint of last resorts, so I suppose it's only fitting that I'm yours. Still, it's nice to be considered. Let me guess, you need a place to crash for a while then?"

Tonks nodded. "I don't mean to be a burden, Gawain, but-"

"Hush, love," Gawain interrupted. "It's no burden at all. Now, it's late, and you look knackered. Why don't you go and get ready for bed, you can take the bedroom."

Tonks shook her head. "I can take the couch."

Gawain gave her a false glare. "The couch is mine. You aren't taking that from me." He gave a half-smile. "I sleep there most nights anyway, so it's no bother. Now, go on, there's a bathroom connected to the bedroom if you fancy a bath or shower. Do you have clothes?"

Tonks nodded and patted her coat pocket. "I grabbed some stuff from my flat before coming here."

"Right then, off you go," Gawain pushed her toward the hallway. "Last door at the end. Whatever you do, don't go into the third door on the left. Last time someone went in there without my knowledge..." he trailed off, thinking of his wife and daughter. "Just don't do it, yeah?"

He watched her go until she closed the bedroom door behind her. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, picking one out and stuffing it between his lips, tossing the pack on the table beside the couch. He lit the cigarette with a snap of his fingers and took a long drag. He looked back at the bedroom door, silently wondered what had happened to make the vibrant young woman he so admired become so timid and actually seek him out.

He'd find out in the morning, he decided. He dropped onto the couch and summoned his beer from the kitchen. With a wave of his hand, the radio beside the couch turned on and the raw sound of Punk Rock filled the room. His Sex Pistols CD must have still been in there. Not that he minded, they were his favourite.

He summoned a book from the bookshelf and leaned back, his eyes roaming over the runic letters.

He fell asleep with the book laying open on his chest and several empty bottles on the table beside him along with an empty pack of cigarettes.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: That's another chapter down!**

 **I really hope I did some justice to the Harry and Tonks moment. I felt it really needed to be felt, that sadness. I know it was hard for me to write, and I hope it was good enough. It's a scene that could have gone very differently, had things gone the other way with the vote and everything. But, it is what it is.**

 **Now, I know this chapter was shorter but hopefully things will pick up again soon, and we'll have some longer chapters. Coming up, we'll see more of Harry and his family, some Barty and Lily interaction, as well as Harry learning that his son has no magic. Now, I already have a plan for that part of the story, so don't worry.**

 **Until next time!**


	19. My Father's Blood

**XIX. My Father's Blood**

Harry smiled as he felt Hermione cuddle closer to his side, one of her hands resting on his chest, fingers lightly tracing the outline of his large scar, in the shape of a Thurisaz Rune.

Unlike her, Harry could not clearly remember the event that led to him having that particular scar. He remember every other one with near-perfect clarity, mostly because almost every one of them was linked to someone he had killed. The only thing he remembered was that he had carved it there himself.

They'd been laying there for over an hour now, just basking in the presence of each other, getting used to the feel of the other beside them again.

After his arrival there at the house, Harry had proceeded to take his lady by the hand and lead her to their chosen bedroom, after making sure that their son had been settled in for the night. It had taken some time for them to actually make it to the bed, instead standing in the room, just holding each other, neither willing to let go of the other, lest they disappear. When they had finally broken apart, it was only to remove shoes and shirts, then they were back together, laying on top of the blankets on the bed.

"I can't believe I'm finally home," Harry said softly, almost seeming afraid to speak too loud, lest his voice shatter what he secretly feared was a dream, a fantasy. He ran his hand up and down Hermione's bare back, feeling the soft, smooth skin that he had once all but worshipped. "Six years...six god-damned years...it doesn't feel real."

Hermione smiled and pressed her lips against the scar she had been tracing. "I know...I keep expecting to wake up and find that this was just a dream. An amazing, beautiful dream." She resumed tracing the scar. "It feels so real."

Harry lifted his hand from around her waist and brought it up to her hair, running his fingers through it tenderly, his fingers playing with the ends. "If this is a dream, I hope it doesn't end any time soon." He chuckled. "I'd assume I was dead but...this doesn't feel like the last time."

Hermione looked up at him, confused and a small bit alarmed. "You died?" Harry nodded. "When?"

Harry shifted slightly on the bed. "Right after we were taken from Azkaban. They had us in the barrow, the one we were in earlier. Stayed there for a while to recover enough to travel. They wouldn't let us leave or make contact. Anyway, I was...sleeping, I guess, I don't know, I'd been unconscious for a while, even before I was broken out. I don't remember it really, it's like a dream you just can't remember, but I remember the feeling. It was...indescribable, but it didn't feel like this. Scared Barty and Reggie near to death, though."

Hermione laid her head back down, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath and his heart beating steady and strong within his breast. These, more than anything assured her that he was there with her, really there. "You came back though; to life, and to me. That's all that matters."

Harry nodded. "Death himself couldn't keep me away for you, or our son." He sighed. "He's a handsome boy. We did good."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, we did."

"I'm sorry you had to do it alone," Harry whispered. "I should have been there. I _wanted_ to be there."

Hermione rubbed his chest comfortingly. "I know. You'll be there for the next one."

Harry raised a brow. "A bit early for that kind of talk, isn't it? My trousers are still on."

Hermione bit her lip and lowered her eyelids. "I can remedy that," she said coyly, her fingers dancing down his abdomen to his belt buckle.

Harry lowered his hand back down from her hair to her exposed skin. "You start something and I'm not letting you out of here until the sun comes up, and maybe not even then."

Hermione licked her lips seductively and leaned up until her mouth was but a scant few centimetres from his, undoing the buckled with deft fingers. "Promises, promises."

Harry kissed her, eyes rolling closed as he tasted her. "I always keep my promises," he spoke, lips still touching hers.

She pressed back into the kiss and his hands started moving, one into her hair to deepen the kiss and the other down to her hip and over the curve of her bum.

"It's been six years," Harry hissed as Hermione climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs. She ground her hips, pressing down against his growing hardness with a moan, then started undoing his trousers.

"Then you're long overdue," she breathed. "Don't worry, we've got all night."

Harry grinned as he trailed kisses down her neck and down to her breasts, his own fingers going to work on the front of her denims. "Promises, promises."

 **XXXX**

Tonks burrowed her head deeper into the pillow that her head was resting on. It was soft and fluffy, much more so than she remembered it being. That thought made her still as she became aware that the bed underneath her didn't feel like her bed, and the pillow under head was not her pillow.

Both were bad signs, but she didn't feel hungover and she didn't remember drinking the night before. So where was she and how did she get there?

Slowly, she opened her eyes and her sight was filled with the image of an unfamiliar bedroom. pale coloured walls, with a few old paintings, a window covered by dark curtains, a ceiling fan turning quickly and silently, keeping the room cool and comfortable. A small table with a lamp for reading. The pillowcases were white, as opposed to her own purple and red. So where the sheets.

She frowned and turned over to the other side of the bed, and found it, thankfully, empty. She didn't know what she'd have done had there been someone else in the bed with her. It was as she was thinking this that her eyes fell on a photo, sitting in a simple silver frame on the small table that was a mirror of the one on the other side of the bed.

Frowning deeper, she reached out and pulled the photo to her, her dark eyes taking in the image of a man that looked like Gawain, but younger, and smiling happily, a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes, like the man's, held in his arms, her face frozen mid-laugh. And a woman with hair like the little girl, slightly tanned skin, as if she liked to spend long hours outside, and grey eyes. If Tonks didn't know any better, she'd have said that the woman looked like a Black, but as a member of that Most Ancient and Noble House, she knew that this could not be so. A distant cousin perhaps? Not that that was a short list.

It dawned on her who this was. The man didn't look like Gawain, it _was_ Gawain. So, if that was the case, then the woman must be his wife and the little girl was his daughter. They had both been dead for several years now, she remembered.

So, she was in Gawain's house, and probably his bedroom too. She vaguely remembered apparating to the general area where the files at the Ministry said his house was, and him answering the door. And taking a shower, then going to sleep in his bed, _alone_.

She sighed in relief at the fact that she hadn't allowed herself to do something foolish in the haze of heartbreak.

She sat up, replacing the photo on the table, and let her memories of the day before settle into her mind, feeling her chest tighten as she recalled her emotion-driven talk with Harry and the memory of his arms around her. She felt a shiver go down her spine but she forced her mind away from those thoughts. She picked up wand from the table where she had found the photo and gave it a flick, the time of day appearing in small burning figures.

It was just after eight in the morning. She needed to get ready for work; she'd probably be a bit late, but that didn't really matter.

With that in mind, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded to where she remembered the bathroom being. The door was already open so she didn't bother knocking to see if Gawain was in there. She flipped the lights on and closed the door, locking it and began stripping her nightgown off, letting it and her knickers pool around her feet. She stepped out of them and started the shower up, adjusted the temperature until it was comfortable and then moved under the steady stream.

As she washed her hair with the soaps she had brought from her own flat, she thought about everything that was going on.

Harry was back in England with his family. He had broken her heart yesterday, but he had not done so in a cruel manner, and he had even seemed rather sad to have to do so. Hell, he had even admitted that there had been a time when there might have been a chance for them, but it seemed fate had other plans for her.

She knew that there were tears mixing with the warm water on her face, but she took no notice of them. She was not some pathetic schoolgirl who would let rejection ruin her life. Sure, it hurt, and likely always would, even if only a little bit after a while, but it did not define her, and it did not break _her_ , just her heart. That was the great thing about being human, even if the heart broke, the body kept going in spite of it.

She'd stay here for a short while. It'd be nice to have a friend to spend time with and keep her mind off of her own emotional trauma, if Gawain would let her.

She finished up her shower and stepped out after cutting the water off. She sighed and dried herself magically, and threw in a spell to shave her legs as well; she was depressed but that was no excuse to slack off on her personal upkeep. She looked at herself after clearing the fogging moisture from the mirror and looked at her hair, which was in its long, naturally dark state. She considered whether or not she'd like to change it to some outrageous colour, which from what she could tell from muggle trends, wasn't all that crazy any more.

She shrugged and decided to let it fall naturally today. Likewise, she left her eyes their natural blue-grey. She just didn't have the energy to put on a happy front right now. It would be a lie and she didn't like lying, not even to herself.

She rummaged through the bag she had brought with her and fished out a fresh pair of knickers and a bra, putting them on and then finding herself a pair of jeans that hugged her curves but still left her able to move about without restriction. She added a t-shirt of some American muggle band with a logo that resembled a celtic knot or an upright four leafed clover, except it was black and white - she couldn't remember the name of the band for the life of her - and added a hooded zip-up sweater over that. When she headed to work, she'd zip it all of the way and add her coat and be just fine. She walked out and sat on the bed and tugged her socks and boots on before heading out to see if she could find some tea to finish waking her up.

She entered the lounge and drew up short. Gawain was laying half-sideways, his head against the arm of the sofa, a heavy, leather-bound tome laying open on his chest and several empty beer bottles on the table beside him, which she knew hadn't been there the night before. He was still dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing yesterday and he hadn't even bothered to take off his boots.

There was some punk rock band playing on the radio that she thought sounded vaguely familiar; though how he slept with it playing like that, she'd never know.

In his sleep, he looked much more peaceful than she had ever seen him while awake. The lines of his face were smoothed and his lips, while not smiling, were not frowning either. His breathing was soft, deep and even, and while that position could not be in any way comfortable, he didn't seem to mind in the least. She remembered him saying something along the line of sleeping on the sofa most nights anyway, so he was probably used to sleeping like that.

Tonks briefly considered leaving him like that, but if she was up and going to work, she might as well wake him and get him going as well. He might even make it almost on time today if she did.

That in mind, she walked over and nudged him on the shoulder with her hand. "Mate, wake up." She nudged him again. "Gawain, get up." He still didn't wake up, though he did mumble something under his breath. She sighed and looked around her. A small smirk grew on her face as she spied small old feather duster laying on the floor near the fire place. She walked over and picked it up and walked back. She kicked his foot with the toe of her boot a couple of times but he stayed sleeping, so she swatted him in the rib with the duster. "Wake up, Robards!" she said firmly.

Gawain jolted at the sudden, sharp pain in his rib, his hand snapping out and grabbing onto the feather duster, jerking it out of her hand and tossing it aside, his other hand going for his wand before his eyes cleared and he realized who it was standing in front of him. "Jaysus, Tonks," he groaned, letting go of his wand and dropping back down against the couch.

Tonks relaxed, not having realized that she had tensed up as soon as Gawain snapped into motion and went for his wand. "Wotcher, Gawain," she greeted, though without her usual energy.

Gawain picked up his book from where it had fallen when he was so rudely woken up and set it aside. "Did you need something? What time is it?"

"Just about half-past eight," Tonks answered the second question. "I was getting ready to head in to work, thought I'd wake you up so you weren't late."

Gawain rubbed the grit from his eyes as he listened and sighed. "You can't go into work."

Tonks frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Gawain stood up with a small hiss as his tensed and stiff muscles protested the action. "Think about it, love. You were basically kidnapped from the Ministry by the current most-wanted wizard in the world. You got lucky last night when you went to find my address, but that was after hours. If you just show up to the office after that, Savage will have you in a holding cell so fast you won't even have time to trip over something."

Tonks frowned as he started walking toward the kitchen, scratching the back of his head as he went, not even bothering the straighten his wrinkled shirt. She hadn't thought about that at all. He was absolutely right. Savage wouldn't care that she was an Auror and had been kidnapped, he'd just see her as a source of information and have Lynch rape her mind for that information, and with the power those two blokes in the barrow had said the team was given, Savage would have no legal tape to cut through either. And he wouldn't even have to let her go afterwards.

Gawain was on that team, so why wasn't he turning her over to Savage? A part of her said it was because they were mates and mates don't sell each other out, but she wasn't certain of that just yet.

So, she decided to ask.

She walked to the kitchen door and leaned against the frame, arms crossed under her breasts as she watched Gawain move about and prepare tea while smoking a cigarette. If it weren't for the slightly slouched posture of his shoulders, one might have thought he didn't have a care in the world, but she could practically see the dark cloud that followed him about like a lost puppy. And given what she knew of his history, it was no surprise. Though, comparing the man before her to the one he had been when they first started working together, she could see that he had just a bit more life to him now. A part of her liked to think she was the cause for that; like, maybe she had had a good effect on him or something.

"You want a cuppa?"

Tonks snapped out of her reverie at his question. "Y-yeah. Sure, thanks."

Gawain nodded and poured a second cup of tea, adding just a bit of sugar and milk to it, stirred it twice and then passed it over to her. She accepted it gratefully. "So, why aren't you turning me over to Savage?"

Gawain shrugged. "I know it's what I should do, and maybe I'm going soft, but I don't think I could live with myself if I did that to you. I wouldn't wish Lynch's methods on anyone, except perhaps my worst enemy." He shook his head and took a sip of his steaming tea, followed by a drag from his cigarette.

Tonks sipped her own tea and sat down at the small kitchen table. "So, what I am I supposed to do, then?" she asked.

Gawain shrugged. "I don't rightly know," he admitted. "You can lay low here if you want. No doubt they'll raid your flat at some point, probably best if you aren't there. This place, it'll be the last place they check, especially if I act like I'm still concerned about what happened."

Tonks raised a brow. "You were worried?"

Gawain scowled. "Of course I bloody was. You're my mate, Tonks. Any mate of mine gets snatched right in front of my eyes, of course I'm going to be upset. I duelled your friend Potter for a few minutes before he managed to get away. I'm not too proud to say he bested me."

Tonks nodded. "That sounds about right. There's something different about him now," she found herself saying. "He's...got an aura about him now. Nothing literal, but like, just the way he carries himself. He's stronger now, more sure of himself, if that's possible."

"Trust me, love, I got a pretty good look at it myself, he wasn't even trying..." Gawain said, sitting opposite her at the table. "Look, I won't ask you where he is – you wouldn't tell me even if I did – but I have to know something." He waited for her to nod, accepting that he was going to ask a question and expected an answer. "What happened to make you hunt me down in the middle of the night, just to ask for a place to crash? What made you come here rather than stay with your friends or just go home?"

Tonks looked down at the cup in her hands and frowned, her eyes going misty as she once again recalled the events of the day before. "I..." her voice was shaking so she took a steadying breath. If she was going to hide out at his place, she needed to be honest with him at least. And who knew, maybe it would help if she talked about it. "I confessed my feelings to him." She sniffed and wiped her eye as a tear threatened to fall. "He rejected me, of course. I expected that. Knew it. He had Hermione and their son, and Harry isn't the type to throw something like that away. He didn't have a real father growing up, so he won't let his son grow up without one. He let me down easy. Much easier than I would have expected, but at the end, I told him I was going to take some personal time, get myself back in order. I had planned to go back to work, but that's out of the question now. All of my friends are associated with Harry in some way. All of them, except you. I didn't know where you lived, so I looked you up in our files and here we are. I knew you wouldn't judge me or try to make me feel better like the others would have."

Gawain nodded and took another sip of his tea. "Right. Well, like I said, you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. The bed's yours, as long as you're here." He stood up and walked around the table, clapping a supportive hand on her shoulder. She turned her face up toward him as he gave her shoulder a squeeze. "For the record, it's his loss, love. And that's the only cliché you'll be getting from me this morning, so savour it while it lasts." Tonks smiled at this and he let go. "Now, I'm going to hit the shower. I've got to slowly get ready for work and be as late as usual, else someone might get suspicious."

He trekked down the hall to the bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes from his wardrobe before heading into the bathroom. He paused just inside and narrowed his eyes at the floor. Tonks' knickers and night gown were laying in a pool on the floor, just left there for anyone to see, as were the clothes she had been wearing the night before when she arrived. He shook his head and kicked them to the side, where they settled against the wall. Must have been a habit of hers that she hadn't really thought about, as Tonks didn't seem the type do do something so...unladylike and discourteous as a guest. In her own home, sure, but at someone else's, no. He'd let it slide, this time. His late wife had done the same on occasion, so it wasn't like he was unused to such things. But that was his wife, and this was Tonks, his...partner and friend.

He showered slowly, shaved, and dressed, taking his time doing all of it. By the time he reappeared out of the room, it was near half-past nine. He had Tonks' own dirty clothes along with his own. The girl in question was on the couch, just kinda sitting there in thought, so he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"What?" she asked, as if he had spoken and she had not heard him.

He held up the nightgown and unmentionables for her to see, seeing her eyes widen and a blush appear on her cheeks. "Laundry goes in the hamper, love. I'll let it slide this time, but I like to keep it mostly clean around here, when I can." As if to prove his point, he banished their clothes to said hamper back in the room and waved his wand, vanishing the bottles and such around the room, leaving it looking for all the world like a normal parlour or drawing room.

"Sorry about that," Tonks said, still looking a bit embarrassed at the casual and blunt way he had addressed, brandished and handled her knickers and sleepwear. Then again, the man used to be married, so he'd probably seen and handled such things before. Or maybe he just wasn't bothered by such mundane things. But those were _hers_ dammit. "It's just habit for me at home, you know, to just kind leave them wherever until I get around to throwing them in the wash."

Gawain walked about, searching for his coat. "I figured as much. That's why I didn't make a big fuss about it. Just try to work on it, yeah?" He found his coat in the kitchen and came back out, glancing at his watch. "Right, it's nearly ten now. I should have been at work over an hour ago." He shrugged. "Good enough, I guess. Right. So, food's in the fridge, I think, if you get hungry. There are a few take-out places who will deliver if you want. There's a list on the fridge door, and some muggle pounds in the drawer to the right of the drawer with the cutlery. Should be more than enough. If you do order out, grab something for me as well and just stuff it in the fridge. Any questions before I go?"

Tonks looked around and shrugged. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

Gawain sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, you could read, I suppose. Or train. There's some dummies and an obstacle course set up out back for that. Listen to the wireless. I don't really have much around here. I usually just relax and read on my days off. Sorry, I'm not a very interesting person."

Tonks shook her head but made no comment so he just shrugged again and went to the door.

"Oh, and again, that room, third door on the left, don't go in there, please. I can't have another death on my conscience." He looked imploringly at her until she nodded her head in understanding. "Good. Well, I'm out then. I'll see you when I get back, if you're still here."

The door closing behind him was like a signal for absolute silence to settle over the house and all Tonks could hear was her own breathing. Not being able to take it, she flicked the switch on the wireless and soon the fast, raw punk music from before filled the silence. She shrugged. Good enough.

She picked up the book that Gawain had been reading when he fell asleep and read the etched title, her mind instinctively translating the runes into English from the old Germanic tongue it was written in. _Children of the_ _Sky_ , it read, but there was no author listed anywhere on the cover or the inside pages. From what she could gather, it was a tome exploring the magical practices of the ancient shamans of early Europe, with particular focus on those who lived in the mountains and forests of the north.

Decided she had nothing better to do, she flipped back to the first page and began to read.

 **XXXX**

Harry stood on the veranda of the rather impressive country house that belonged to Tiberius McLaggen, a small smile on his face as he watched Hugo play with Victoire. The two were having the time of their lives chasing each other around a large oak tree just in front of the house.

He had been surprised when he and Hermione had emerged from their bedroom that morning, after a long night of vigorous lovemaking and thorough re-exploration of each others bodies, finding just the right places to stroke, caress, squeeze, pinch, nip, lick and kiss to make the other come undone, to find Bill and Fleur there with their children and Charlie. It was just lucky that Harry had had the foresight to put up privacy wards before they had begun tearing each others clothing off, else he was sure they would have not only kept the rest of the house up all night, but scarred their child for life with the cacophony of sounds that had filled the space between those four walls for hours upon end.

Of course, there had been the idea that they would come around some time to let the children see each other and to get used to all being back together again for the first time in over six years, but Harry had expected that to be several days down the line at least.

The sound of the door opening behind him caused him to turn his head and glance back, smiling when he saw Hermione stepping through the door. Before she closed it, Harry caught a glimpse of Barty and his mother sitting having a pleasant conversation in the entrance hall, and making their way toward the lounge. Harry felt a small twinge of annoyance at Barty for blatantly ignoring his warning to stay away from his mum, but couldn't find it in himself to get too upset by it, especially since he could tell that Barty was sincere in his desire to finally find a wife and settle down, and his mum deserved to have another chance at a relationship after her falling out, separation and divorce from James Potter – she had started going by Lily Evans again, instead of Lily Evans Potter; that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Hermione didn't seem to catch on to his slight flash of annoyance as her eyes had gone to the two smiling and giggling children.

"That's a rare sight," she said, smiling.

Harry looked back at the children. "What do you mean?" He had not had time to learn what sort of child his son was yet, this being only the second day of his official return to England.

Hermione walked over to him and leaned against him. Harry lifted his arm and let her settled into his side, his arm resting around her shoulders. "Hugo usually isn't the active type. He usually just relaxes in the shade while the others play. He very introverted, usually. I think this is the first time I've ever seen him actually laughing and playing like that in a long time."

Harry frowned. "Does he not like to play games?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not particularly. He will, but he's the least enthusiastic of the lot. Scorpius is the most active, he usually has to pester Hugo until he finally relents and joins in. Victoire takes a bit more of a gentle approach when she wants Hugo to do something. She'll coax him into it. It usually takes less time when she asks than when Scorpius asks."

Harry nodded. His mind was already telling him that there was going to be conflict among this little trio in the future. Hugo, he could see, was already quite taken with the young blonde witch, who looked like she was set to inherit her mother's beauty and allure. No doubt one or both of the boys would fancy her when they got older and that would breed contempt and conflict between them. He sighed. He hoped he was wrong about that.

"Harry?" Hermione spoke tentatively, almost as if she were afraid of what she wanted to say.

"Hm?" Harry hummed, looking down at her after tearing his gentle gaze away from his son and his son's friend.

Hermione took a deep breath. "There's something important I need to tell you, about Hugo." Harry gave a small nod, prompting her to go on. Hermione seemed to mentally steel herself before looking him in the eyes seriously. "He's a squib."

Harry raised a brow, then frown, not sure he had heard that right. "Beg pardon?"

Hermione's lip started trembling as she started wringing her hands together nervously. "Our son, he...he's a squib. He has no magic." Harry processed this for a moment, not saying anything and Hermione's face fell as she took in his unreadable expression, her anxiety making her think the worst. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, feeling a sense of failure well up in her. If there was one thing that she both feared and hated in equal measure, it was failure, and this, in her own heart and mind, was her worst.

Harry frowned as she apologized. "Why?"

Hermione blinked. "Why what?"

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because it's my fault."

"No it isn't," Harry scoffed. "Did you take his magic from him?"

Hermione stared wide-eyed. "What?"

"Did you take his magic from him?" Harry repeated evenly.

Hermione shook her head. "No, of course not! Is that even possible?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he answered flatly. "So, you can't have possibly take his magic from him, so what makes you think it is your fault that our son was born a squib?"

Hermione shrugged. "He came from my body, Harry," she said.

"And from my seed," Harry countered. "If you are to blame, then so am I, equally." He stood silently, his arm still around her and his eyes back on the children, who had taken to sitting against the base of the tree, Victoire talking animatedly and Hugo listening with rapt attention. "Does he feel inferior to the others because of it?"

Hermione looked up at him, but Harry had not turned his eyes from his son. "I don't think so, but I know he gets a bit sad when talk of Hogwarts comes up."

Harry nodded and fell into deep thought for a few minutes. When he spoke again, the sudden sound of his voice made Hermione jump slightly, the young woman having relaxed against his warm form as a cool breeze blew by. "I may have a solution, but I want to talk with Hugo first before I do anything."

"What can you do?" Hermione asked sceptically. "Magic isn't something you can just whip up out of thin air and give away. You have to be born with it, and Hugo wasn't."

Harry just smirked and stepped away from her, trotting down the steps and walking across the lawn toward his son. Victoire saw him coming and stopped mid-sentence, making Hugo frown and follow her gaze. He suddenly looked nervous but didn't move from his spot.

"'Ello, Mr. Potter," Victoire said politely, her accent mirroring her mother's.

Harry smiled kindly at the girl. "Hello, Victoire. Would you mind if I had a word with Hugo for a short while?"

The blonde girl shook her head and made to stand up from her spot but Hugo grabbed her hand and tugged her back down. He looked at Harry. "Can she stay, please?"

Harry frowned for a moment but nodded, crouching down in front of the two children. He recognized the look in Hugo's eyes when he had reached for his friend to keep her from leaving. He was uncomfortable and wanted someone familiar there with him, someone he trusted and whom he could draw comfort from. Yes, Harry thought, it was too early for the boy to know it, but he was indeed quite taken with the girl. "If that's what you want, son," Harry said by way of verbal answer to his son's question.

Hugo seemed to sag in relief as this and Victoire settled back down beside him, not letting go of his hand.

"Now, I know I haven't been around and you have no reason to even care about my concerns but I want us to have a relationship, son. I want to be a father to you, if you'll have me." Harry met his son's eyes seriously, giving him the respect that Harry himself expected from others.

Hugo nodded. "The papers said you were fighting in a war," he said. "Mum said that you did it to protect us. Is that really true?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, for the most part. How much do you know about me and the things I've done?"

Hugo looked down for a moment. "I know you used to work for the Dark Lord," he said. "I know you changed sides when you met mum, I know you didn't know about me before you escaped from prison. I know you killed a lot of people."

Harry sighed. "So, enough, then. Well, I'll be honest with you. I didn't plan beyond that last battle with Voldemort. I knew I would go to Azkaban, and I accepted it, knowing that things would be better off with what I had done. When I was broken out of Azkaban, it wasn't just to have me free, it was to recruit me into a fight that had been years in the making.

"Tiberius, the man who owns this house here, and Malcolm, the man your mum works for, they are part of a group that opposed the ICW, and they wanted me, and your Uncle Barty, to fight with them. They wanted my legend to lend power to their cause. I admit I was lost when I woke from the darkness of Azkaban, and a war was something I knew, something familiar. It was a reason to exist, something to fight for. At the time, I didn't know you existed and I agreed to help them, thinking I'd be able to come home once I found myself again. You see, the man I was before I met your mother and the man I was when I went to Azkaban were two very different men, and the man I was when I came out of Azkaban was neither of those two, and yet he was both of them and I didn't know how or where I fit into this world any more."

He ran a hand through his long hair and lowered himself from a crouch into a sitting position.

"When I learned about you, I insisted on coming back to see you," Harry went on. The two children were listening intently. "At first, Malcolm refused, said it was too dangerous for your mum to know I was still alive. You see, if word got out that I wasn't really dead like the world thought I was at the time, then you and your mum wouldn't be safe. People would target you to get to me. With me officially dead, I was free to move about and do what I had to do, and you and your mum were free to live in peace. I was able to persuade them to let me at least visit you once, so long as I didn't alert anyone to my presence. Dobby knew I was there, but I swore him to silence. You were sleeping when I first saw you. I wanted to hold you so much, but I didn't dare pick you up, lest you wake and start crying. As it is, I still accidentally woke your mum and she almost caught me."

Harry looked at the boy, who looked so much like him that it was uncanny; except the hair and eyes, those were all Hermione.

"After that, I we moved around for a bit. Romania with Charlie, then to an island in the North Sea. It was there that I met someone who I greatly admire and respect," he said. "His name is Gellert Grindelwald, you've heard of him?" Both kids nodded, Hugo looking like he wanted to ask a question but stayed silent. "I trained under him for four years. He taught me many things. So much...he's a great and wise man. After that, we went to Bulgaria and it was there that I revealed myself to the world, where I showed the world that I was not dead. We took the Ministry there within days. We were quick, and efficient. We struck hard and fast. From there, we went to France and met up with Victoire's parents. We waited until the ICW were all gathered together, then we struck and killed them all. Again, it was over quickly. So many years away, and our goal was achieved within the space of two weeks. Of course, it was easy for us, but the world will be reeling from what we did for some time to come. Years, possibly. And now I'm here, with you."

Silence reigned for a long moment following Harry's story. Hugo looked thoughtful; the expression was almost unnerving on such a young child. Harry wondered if that was what he had been like at that age. He remembered a lot from that time, but seeing it from the outside was very different from how you perceived yourself.

"Don't decide anything yet, son," Harry said. "Think long and hard about it. Before I go back inside, there was one more thing I wanted to talk to you about." Hugo nodded, agreeing to listen. "You mum tells me you don't have magic in you." Hugo nodded, looking down sadly. He, like Hermione, saw it as a failure. His own failure. He may not know yet what to make of his father but he didn't want to feel like he was a disappointment. "How do you feel about it? I want the truth. Tell me, no matter what it is."

Hugo glanced at Victoire, who had looked a bit forlorn when the subject of magic was brought up. She tried to avoid the subject because she knew it hurt Hugo to know that someday they would be separated from each other because she could do magic and he couldn't. "I don't want to lose my friends," Hugo said, unconsciously squeezing Victoire's hand. "They'll go to Hogwarts or one of those other schools and I'll have to stay behind. Mum's been teaching me primary subjects since I was three, I can read and write and do maths, but I'll never get to do magic like Victoire or Scorpius." He unconsciously squeezed the young witch's hand again as he thought of her and Scorpius leaving him behind.

Harry smiled. "Would you like to be able to do magic?"

Hugo lifted his head finally and nodded. "Yes. But that's impossible."

Harry smirked. "You and your mother, both." He shook his head. "Nothing is impossible." He stood up. "I need to pay a visit to the North Sea," he said. "I promise you, my son, that you will have your magic, one way or another, if you truly want it." He got another nod from Hugo and smiled before turning and walking toward the edge of the property line.

"Harry!"

He paused as Regulus ran out toward him.

"Where do you think you are going?" Regulus asked as he drew level with Harry.

"I'm going to pay Gellert a visit. I have something I need to discuss with him. It's a personal matter. A family matter. I'll explain when I get back."

"You shouldn't go alone, Harry," Regulus insisted.

Harry smirked. "Brother mine, you worry too much." With that, he apparated on the spot, leaving a concerned Regulus behind.

Hermione had been watching from the porch and walked toward where Regulus was standing. "Where's Harry gone?"

"To visit a friend. He said it was a family matter and that he'd explain more when he got back," Regulus said with an edge to his voice as he turned and started back toward the house. Hermione fell in behind him, her mind racing as wondered where Harry had gone. He had only just come back and him just going off like that scared her.

 **XXXX**

Gawain's head snapped up from his paperwork as the doors to the Auror Office burst open and man in dirty and burned robes, which marked him as a member of the Azkaban Guard, stumbled inside, moving to lean heavily against one of the nearby desks.

Gawain stood up as the man tried to take another step with the support of the desk but his knees gave way and he collapsed face-down onto the floor.

There was a sudden rush of motion and sound as Gawain and several others rushed from where they were to get to the man.

Damian Lynch, who had been closest to the man at the time, got to him first and turned him over. Gawain could see his lips moving but the voice was so soft he almost didn't catch a single word.

"...Az..ka...ban...has...fall..en..."

The man fell unconscious then, but the whole time he had spoken, he had been locked in eye-to-eye contact with Lynch, who lowered the man down and stood up as Savage and Scrimgeour came rushing over to see what was going on.

"What is the meaning of this?" Savage demanded, eyeing the downed guard. He looked at Lynch, who was standing at the man's side. "Report."

Damian met Savage's gaze evenly, not even the slightest bit intimidated by the taller man. "Azkaban has been attacked," the Irish Auror reported. "Several high-risk inmates have been freed. Death Eaters."

Savage scowled. "Was is Potter?"

Damian shook his head. "It does not seem so. I don't recognize the men I saw in his memories." He gestured to the guard to indicate who he meant by 'his'. "This one managed to survive by pretending to be dead. He saw the whole thing. Both Malfoys, Travers, Rowle, Parkinson, Jugson, have all been freed."

Savage cursed under his breath. "As if we didn't have enough on our hands."

The doors behind them opened again and Gawain turned to see who it was this time. He sighed as he recognized the two men up front; one had short dark hair that was buzzed on the sides and combed back on top, a clean-shaven face and a tattoo of a chaos star on his neck, and the second man was older and rougher, with long brown hair that fell to his shoulders and a scruffy beard and moustache, a tattoo of a bear print on the back of his right hand. Graves and Proudfoot, Aurors from MACUSA. At their backs was an entire squad of Aurors in long dark robes, a few wearing fedoras, which had been a part of the Auror uniform in America for some time, but wasn't as prevalent any more; the American Wizarding Community tended to follow muggle trends far more closely than the British and European communities did, which was evident in the way that Proudfoot dressed in jeans and a leather coat while Graves wore cargo-pants and a long-sleeved, snug-fitting black shirt.

Proudfoot took in the sight of the unconscious guard and grunted. "Just barely got here and things are already goin' to hell. Can't you Brits do anythin' right?" he muttered in his gravelly voice, just barely loud enough for the group to hear.

"Now, now, Wil, these are our friends," Graves chastised. "Let's at least try to be friendly."

Proudfoot scoffed. "Friends, my ass. If they had just done the sensible thing and killed those two, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Gentlemen," Savage greeted, smirking slightly. "Good to see you again. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Proudfoot walked forward. "Cut the crap, Savage," he growled. "What the hell is goin' on here?" He kicked the fallen guard''s boot with the side of his own as emphasis.

Savage continued to smirk. "We have had a bit of an incident at Azkaban, that's all. It seems two unknown assailants have attacked the prison and freed several of the Death Eaters we had imprisoned there. This man here," he gestured to the guard, "was there. He saw it happen. From what Lynch has gathered from his memories, it was not Potter or any of his known associates."

"Then who was it?" Graves asked, joining them, looking at Damian.

Damian shrugged. "I don't know. They're faces are not familiar to me."

"So," Gawain spoke up for the first time. "What your saying is we've got two more, no wait, make that eight or more fugitives to worry about on top of Potter and Crouch. Add in the fact that Granger and Evans have both vanished from their home in Godric's Hollow, my partner, Tonks, has been abducted and Bill Weasley and his brother are missing from their respective places of residence, and I'd say that we're well and truly on our way to another war like that which Voldemort brought to our shores. And what are we doing about it? Just sitting around here scratching our arses like a bunch of useless cunts?"

Proudfoot smirked. "I like this guy, tells it like it is."

"The lad makes a point," Williamson said.

"Much as we'd hate to acknowledge or admit it," James muttered, glaring at Robards.

A small moan alerted them to the guard again. "Would someone please take this man to St. Mungos?" Savage remarked. "Can't leave the rubbish just laying there."

"That's a bit uncalled for," Gawain sneered as he knelt down to haul the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "He did bring us this information, you know."

"The lad makes another point," Williamson chimed in again.

Savage smirked before turning away and heading back to his office. "If he had done his job, he wouldn't have had to. He and all the others. This is what comes from such lackadaisical work-ethic. Laziness breeds weakness. Weakness breeds defeat."

Gawain snarled as he started toward the door. Graves was helping his men set up an area for themselves in the bull-pen, but Proudfoot was watching the Welshman closely. Gawain met the man's eyes briefly, before the man seemed to shrug to himself and head over to the Americans.

"Let's get you to hospital, mate," Gawain sighed, heading toward the lift.

Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

 **XXXX**

Malcolm was sitting behind the bar at the Wyvern, a book in his hand, reading. The usual evening group was in, and Marryn was handling Hermione's absence with grace and poise and no small bit of enthusiasm. He was quite proud of the girl. She'd be a fine barkeep when he retired. Not that she knew he was planning to leave the pub to her, since she was still saving up her coin to buy her own.

The Scotsman glanced up as the door of the pub opened and two hooded figures entered the establishment.

Now, normally, this wouldn't be too much cause for worry, as many of the residents of Knockturn Alley wore their hoods when moving about, out of force of habit. But, there was something about these two that had him instantly alert.

His suspicion was proven warranted when one of the figures drew a wand and pointed it straight up, emitting a loud bang from it; enough for everyone in the pub to turn their attention toward the newcomers.

Once silence had fallen and all eyes were on them, the two lowered their hoods. The first man, who had fired the loud spell, was maybe in his thirties with short russet hair and a short beard of the same colour, while the second was younger, with short, well-groomed dark hair and a clean-shaven face; the second was also very tall and thin, where the first was average height and a small bit stocky.

"My name is Ronan," the first man said. "And I am looking for Harry Potter and Barty Crouch Jr. I am told they used to frequent this establishment."

No one said anything.

Ronan smirked. "I see. Well then. I will pay one-thousand galleons to any man here who can tell me where to find them." To prove his point he pulled a bag of gold from inside his robe and held it up for all to see.

A single man stood from his chair and walked over to Ronan. He looked at the gold, then at Ronan, and spit in his face. "Run along, filth. We don't want your kind here."

Ronan laughed softly and looked down, wiping the saliva from his cheek. "My kind. I see. It would appear you have mistaken me for an Auror. Trust me, friend, I am not."

The man shook his head. "No. I got you figured right, Death Eater scum. And I ain't your friend."

Ronan made an 'ah' face then, faster than anyone could follow, fired a Killing Curse into the man's stomach. The sound of the body hitting the floor at Ronan's feet seemed to echo through the room. Malcolm was on his feet now, wand in hand.

"As it seems you cannot be swayed," Ronan spoke into the silence. "Deliver a message for me. Tell Potter, that I am coming for him. My father's blood is on his hands, and I will have that debt repaid. Blood for blood. A life for a life. Tell him his time is up."

With that the two men left the pub,

Silence continued to reign over the room. Marryn had a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide at what she had just seen. Malcolm tucked his wand away and went around from behind the bar and knelt beside the dead patron. The man's name was Lionel, he had been a Gryffindor in Hogwarts, a few years ahead of Malcolm and a regular for over twenty years. "I always knew that Gryffindor courage of yours would be the death of you, old friend," he said sadly. He looked at the door where the two men had disappeared through. Things were going to be a lot harder than they thought. As if fighting the Ministry wasn't hard enough, now there was this Ronan character.

He sighed and called two other regulars over to take Lionel home so that his family could bury him. He instructed them to tell them that he had gotten in confrontation with some strangers and one had killed him and that he himself would take care of the matter. They would know not to go to the Aurors about it. He needed to get out to Tiberius' country home and have a word with Harry and the others. They needed to take this Ronan down quickly before things spiralled even more out of control.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Well, there we go. Another chapter down! Let me know what you all think. Reviews give me fuel to keep writing. Thank you in advance. Review! Review! They are the lifesblood of a fanfiction writer! Save the whales!  
**


	20. The Gift of Magic

**XX. The Gift of Magic**

 _Für das größere Wohl_.

Harry could see the words carved above the doors and see the large symbol emblazoned upon said doors easily from where he was standing. The wind was whipping through his hair, blowing several strands into his face, but his emerald eyes stayed locked on the Tower as he thought about what he needed to do.

Now that he was here, he wondered if what he planned would actually work. Sure, the process had been all but perfected during the four years they had spent here, and Grindelwald's technique was near flawless. Harry could perform the process, he had learned it, just like Barty and Regulus had, but he didn't trust his skill in this as much as he did Gellert's. But would Gellert agree to come to England and perform the operation? He had not left this island, had not even left the Tower, for decades. Would he be willing to do that now, for him?

He inhaled, his nostrils flaring, and started toward the doors. As he neared the doors, there was a quiet groan as the doors opened for him, the House Elves recognizing him easily and granting him entrance to the Tower without preamble.

He stepped across the threshold and immediately batted a curse away, his wand dropping from his sleeve and into his palm, fingers closing around the smooth Elder wood quick as lightning and raising a shield to defend him from the barrage that followed swift on the tail of the first curse.

He let his shield take the brunt of the assault, deftly dodging or deflecting the few that managed to slip through its protective barrier. Once the barrage came to an end, a tense silence fell over the entrance chamber of the Tower and Harry gazed up toward where the attack had come from, seeing the silhouette of his latest mentor standing there in the darkness, barely discernable with Harry's enhanced vision – a side-effect of a run-in with Remus Lupin on a full moon, which had luckily not ended with anyone being bitten, though Harry had been clawed and been struck by a fever, which had left him with slightly heightened senses of taste, smell, hearing and sight, particularly in the dark.

"You have returned," Grindelwald's voice spoke into the silence, filling the room with its soft tone, reverberating gently off the stone walls. "I must admit, I did not expect you to; not so soon, at least."

Harry dropped his shield and lowered his wand to his side. "I had not planned it so soon either, but circumstances have called for it, nonetheless."

He could see movement as Grindelwald nodded. "Come on up to the dining room," he said. "We shall discuss what these circumstances are over lunch." The form of the old wizard moved out of sight, much as he had done on the first night they had all arrived here four years ago.

Harry kept his wand out as he took to the stairs and made his way up to the first landing, of course, Grindelwald was not waiting for him this time, so Harry continued up to the dining area, where a meal had been laid out with two plates and two mugs of dark German beer set up for himself and Gellert. Gellert was standing beside his chair at the table and smiled genially at Harry as the younger wizard made his way over. The old wizard spied Harry's wand still drawn and smirked.

"Unless you have come here to kill me, you can put away your wand," he said, his eyes glinting mirthfully at Harry's obvious caution and readiness. He may have found it slightly amusing, but he had to admit that the boy had been taught well, even before coming to him. Trust no one.

Harry snorted and holstered his wand back against the inside of his right forearm, pulling out his chair from the table as Grindelwald took a seat and began to serve himself from the food on the table. Harry lowered himself into his chair and did the same. The Elves had prepared _Rouladen_ , thinly sliced veal wrapped around pork belly, chopped onions, pickles and mustard, that had been browned and simmered in a thin broth; they had also provided gravy, dumplings, potatoes and _blaukraut –_ cooked red cabbage – to accompany the dish; there was also fresh-baked bread. Harry took a helping of each of this and tucked in, savouring the perfectly cooked meal.

"So," Grindelwald said, taking a sip of his beer. "What brings you back so soon, my friend?"

Harry swallowed a bite of potato and washed it down with a swig from his own brew. "My son," he answered. Grindelwald raised a brow, silently prompting Harry to go on. "He is a squib." Harry sighed. "I do not think less of him for it, but he wished to have magic like his friends, and his parents. I spoke to him of it, and he told that he wants to be a wizard. So, I decided to make that happen."

Grindelwald set down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth from a small cloth. "You want me to go to England and perform the operation." It was not a question, merely the stating of a fact.

Harry nodded his head solemnly. "I know it is a lot to ask, but I would feel better if you, who created this technique, were the one to do it. I have no doubts that I could do it, but..."

"You are afraid of the consequences should you fail," Gellert said understandingly.

Harry opened his mouth to protest but shut it when he could find no denial that did not sound like an excuse. He was afraid. He had only just gotten his family back, and he feared making a mistake which would take that away from him. He was younger than Grindelwald and physically more powerful, but the old wizard had much better control over his magic than Harry did, due to over a century of practice.

"I have not left this Tower in near sixty years," Gellert said quietly, eyes turned toward a window, through which one could see the sea, glittering blue in the sunlight.

Harry took another bite of his food, using a bit of bread to soak up some of the gravy from his plate. "I know. Perhaps it is time to come back to the world. Not in any official capacity, not if you don't wish it, but at least for this, admittedly, large favour."

Grindelwald sighed and turned his mismatched eyes back to Harry. " _Einverstanden_ ," he breathed. "I will do this for you. This fight is yours, and I will not take that from you by showing myself to the world. Not yet. I had my turn, it is yours now. But, your son, I can do this for him. The gift of magic is his by blood. It is his birthright. No child born to magical parents should have to live their life without it." He picked up his knife and fork. "But first, let us finish this fine meal the Elves have provided for us."

Harry nodded thankfully and returned to his own meal.

"Tell me," Gellert spoke after a time. "Is Aberforth still alive?"

Harry shrugged. "Last time I checked he was. Still tending his pub in Hogsmead."

Gellert nodded. "It is not common knowledge that Albus had siblings. A pity that the Dumbledore name shall die with Aberforth."

"Siblings?" Harry raised a brow. "Plural?" This was new to him. He knew that Aberforth was Albus' brother, but there had been others?

Gellert nodded. "He had a sister too. Her name was Ariana. When she was six years old, she was attacked by three muggle boys who had seen her perform accidental magic. When she couldn't reproduce the magic, they assaulted her. She was never the same after that, from what Albus told me, and what I saw of her supported those words. Her father was sent to Azkaban, where he died, for attacking the boys who had harmed his little girl. After the attack, Ariana could not control her magic at all, and their mother moved them to Godric's Hollow, where she hoped they would go unnoticed. Most thought Ariana to be a squib, and that was why she didn't attend Hogwarts. They were mistaken, of course."

He paused to take a swallow of beer.

"When she was fourteen, Ariana had an...episode, which resulted in an explosion of magic. That explosion killed their mother. Albus, the eldest, took over caring for her after that, putting off his plans to travel abroad. Aberforth would have done it, but he was still attending Hogwarts and Albus insisted that he finish his schooling. A few years later, when I was staying in Godric's Hollow with my aunt, a fight broke out. I admit, the starting of that conflict was at least partly my fault, though I was not the first to draw my wand. I did fire the first spell though. Aberforth was angry about Albus planning to leave to travel abroad with me to further our plans for the betterment of Wizarding society. He confronted me and Albus and argued that Albus' time would be better spent there with them, because Ariana needed her guardian and was in no shape to travel with us. I agree with his assessment of Ariana, but at the time I was young and arrogant. I too became angry and told him he was a stupid little boy, and that what I was planning would benefit Ariana, because she wouldn't have to hide and my experiments would be able to make her right again. He drew his wand on me and I retaliated, casting the Cruciatus Curse on him. Albus joined the fight then. He didn't like the Unforgivables, and Aberforth was his flesh and blood, and as they say, blood is thicker than water. So, we duelled. At the time, Ariana was not present, but she was drawn by the loud bangs and the flashing lights. She wanted to stop us from fighting, I think, but something went wrong. Albus and Aberforth never knew which of us cast the spell that killed her, but I knew. I saw it happen, as if in slow motion. It has haunted me ever since. It was my spell that killed her. She tried to stop the spell from hitting Albus, but her magic pulled it toward her, and it killed her instantly." He pushed his plate away and stood up. "I tried to tell Albus this, but he did not want to know. I think he was afraid that it was him. I could not help that girl then, but I can help your boy now. Come. Let us depart this place."

Harry stood and fell in step beside the old wizard as they made their way to the doors of the Tower. Harry stepped outside, but Grindelwald paused at the door, hesitating for a moment. He seemed to wage some internal conflict, before steeling himself and stepping outside the doors, which closed behind him.

He turned and looked at the Sign of the Deathly Hallows and the words above the doors, as if to remind him why he was doing this. " _Für das größere Wohl_." He nodded to himself and turned to Harry, offering his arm so that he could side-along with the younger man.

Harry took hold of his upper arm and thought about the space just outside the wards of Tiberius' country house. With a small _crack_ they were gone.

 **XXXX**

Barty trotted down the stairs of the house, humming a jaunty tune to himself.

Harry had gone to Grindelwald again, or so Regulus had told him. He had been gone for about half an hour already but Barty wasn't too worried about it. He knew how those two could on for hours once they got going. And it wasn't like they had much to do at the moment anyway, not until everyone had gotten together to figure out what their next move would be, so he was actually a bit envious that Harry had found something to do and managed to actually get away from the house to do it.

He turned into the kitchen, thinking he'd grab himself a snack from whatever he could find that he didn't have to cook.

He grinned and grabbed an apple out of a bowl of fruit on the counter top, sinking his teeth into the deep red skin, tasting the sweet juices and meat within. He chewed jovially as he leaned back against the counter.

He took another bite as the door opened and Hermione strode through the door. She paused a moment, looking slightly startled at seeing him there but got her reaction under control fairly quickly. Barty raised a brow at her. Hermione gave him a wary look and walked around him to the pantry.

Barty frowned. "You still aren't sore about the whole almost-killing-Harry-and-then-capturing-you-while-everyone-else-was-locked-in-a-dungeon thing are you? It all worked out in the end."

Hermione closed the pantry and looked over at Barty. "I simply don't know you well enough to trust you," she said.

Barty frowned. "Harry trusts me." He took another bite of his apple, chewed and swallowed.

Hermione nodded. "That's Harry's prerogative."

"You don't seem to like me very much," Barty noted, tilting his head slightly. "Rather odd, seeing as I never actually did you any harm. If you recall, I actually protected you. Twice. No, three times."

"Protected me?" Hermione asked, her voice taking on a hard edge, a hint indignant.

"Yeah," Barty said, his tone still rather friendly and upbeat. "Remember when Carrow hit you in the Department of Mysteries, and I gave the bugger a good smack for it? I was protecting you." Hermione crossed her arms, giving him a sceptical look. Barty huffed. "Fine. In the graveyard, I kept my father from arresting you and Harry. He'd have done it too, and who knows where we'd all be now had that happened." Hermione didn't look convinced. "All right. What about when I took you up to the bedroom rather than let you get thrown in the dungeon? Eh? Does that ring a bell?"

"Don't try to act like you did any of that out of genuine care. You did it so that Harry would do what you needed him to. You needed him to have a reason to go seeking out Voldemort, so you used me to trick him into thinking that you'd taken me to Voldemort so that he'd come looking for me. You used me as bait to force a confrontation that Harry was not ready for."

Barty nodded. "True. I did that. And it all worked out. I may not be a good man, but you are no saint either, Ms. Granger. You've done terrible things as well. You've killed too."

Hermione stiffened. "I did what I had to do."

"So did I," Barty responded softly but firmly. Barty shrugged and pushed off from the counter. "You don't have to like me, I don't expect you to. Hell, you don't even have to trust me. But, for Harry's sake, we should had least try to work together, yeah?" He tossed the core of his eaten apple into the rubbish bin.

"Believe me," Hermione said, "Harry's trust and love for you is the only reason you are still here. If it weren't so, I'd not allow you here, or anywhere near my family. You nearly killed him more than once. You cast the Killing Curse at him more than once." She laughed humourlessly. "For someone who grew up with you as a role model, Harry has a surprising capacity for forgiveness, even if it is only for those he cares about. You should count yourself lucky for that."

Barty sneered. "You think I don't? Believe me, I know what I've done and I know that Harry didn't have to forgive me or Regulus, but he did, and I do count myself lucky, every day. That young man is as much a brother to me as he is a lover to you. Hell, he's practically my son! I bloody raised him to be the man he is. Sure, he was always a bit colder before you came along but I like to think I did a sodding decent job of it, all things considered!"

Hermione shook her head and turned to leave. This conversation was going nowhere.

"Before you go, I want to ask a question," Barty said as she put her hand on the door handle. She turned and looked at him expectantly. "Answer me this, after you found out what he was, why did you stay?" Hermione looked surprised by the question, her eyes widening for a second. "I mean, think about it. You were on the side of the light, a good girl by all accounts. What made you take him back after finding out who and what he was?"

Hermione looked down at the floor as her mind raced back to that time, years ago. She sighed and blinked. "I realized that the monster was a man."

Barty raised a silent brow as she glanced up, prompting her to explain.

She sighed again. "I realized that while he did horrible things, the man I had fallen in love with was still in there, a part of a larger whole that I had not been aware of. The God of Death was a monster, a beast, a faceless figure in a mask. Until he wasn't. He was a man. A man who had thoughts, feelings, goals, dreams. A man who had loved me like no one else ever had. Perhaps a part of it was my fear of being alone again. I admit I was insecure and didn't want to give up something I so desperately wanted. It wasn't that I thought no one else would ever want me, no, I knew of several would-be suitors that I had. It was that I wanted him, and he wanted me. I loved him. And that was it. I still love him. I have for all these years, even though I tried to forget and move on. I had a few would-be flings but they just felt empty and...boring. And then, he came back from the dead." She chuckled. "You both did."

Barty nodded. "Harry never gave up on you, you know. He wanted to come back. Every day. For what it's worth, I am glad I was able to help him get back here. He deserves what good he can get in this life. Hell, we all do."

Hermione opened the door. "I have my love back, and whether I like it or not, you are part of that package. I may not like you much, but I'll tolerate you. But, if you try anything to cause harm to my family, _any of them_ , I'll kill you." With that, she was gone, leaving Barty alone again.

He ran a hand through his hair with an exhale and leaned back against the counter. A moment later, the door opened again and Lily stepped inside. She spied him and gave a small smile.

"Have you come to tell me that you don't like me either?" Barty asked, trying to make it sound like a joke.

Lily frowned as she opened the pantry and took out the things needed to make sandwiches, which she started magically preparing after checking that the spells to keep everything fresh were still working strong. "Is that why Hermione was looking so dour?"

Barty shrugged. "We had a bit of a verbal _t_ _ê_ _te-_ _à_ _-t_ _ê_ _te_ , yes. She basically said she doesn't like me and doesn't trust me and only tolerates me because Harry trusts me. Oh, and said she'd kill me if I did anything to harm her family. I think it was a rather productive conversation, personally."

Lily looked doubtful. "Really? Sounds more divisive than productive."

Barty shook his head. "Nah. We'll get on fine when we have to. It's just the type of people we are. We do what we need to do, even if we find it distasteful or uncomfortable. Most of the time."

Lily nodded as she started piling the sandwiches she had made onto a plate. Hermione had come to the kitchen to do this but following her small confrontation with Barty, had asked Lily to do it.

Barty frowned for a moment then spoke again. "Can I ask you something personal? You don't have to answer but, why didn't you remarry after you divorced James?"

Lily paused, not having expected the question. Barty noted he seemed to be having that effect today. Hermione had paused in much the same way when he asked her about Harry.

"Well," Lily said, her voice uncertain. "Why would you want to know something like that?"

Barty shrugged. "Curious mostly. That, and I'm trying to make casual conversation. I'm not sure how to do it any more, given that the only regular company I've had over the past few years have been Harry, Regulus and Grindelwald. I knew where I stood with all of them. Here, with all of you, I am unsure. I mean, we spoke earlier but that was little more than pleasantries."

Lily gave him a knowing look. "You're trying to get on my good side," she stated. "I remember you, you know, from Hogwarts. You were a couple of years behind me. Smartest in your year, if I recall correctly."

Barty nodded. "Twelve O.W.L.s," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "All O's."

Lily smirked at the slightly bragging tone. "Slytherin, right?"

Barty nodded again. "Yeah. A bit of an outsider, really, even though I was respected well enough. Part of why I fell in with the Death Eaters after school. I had 'friends' there. So, you didn't answer my question."

Lily nodded in agreement. "You're right, I didn't." She picked up the plate and started toward the door.

"Why not?"

She paused, and it was her turn to shrug. "Well, you didn't tell me why you really wanted to know, so I'll tell you when you tell me." With that, she departed.

Barty looked around the once-again empty kitchen. That had certainly gone differently than expected.

He left the kitchen too and was about to head up to the study and find a book to read or something when he heard a shout from outside.

He turned toward the front of the house and started outside. He stood on the porch as he saw the familiar form of Harry walking back toward the house, a second figure walking slightly behind him. Grindelwald.

"Oi!" Barty called out. "What's your House Elf's name?"

"Which one?" Harry and Gellert asked at the same time. Barty snorted and pointed at Grindelwald. "Which one was the first one we met?"

Gellert looked amused. "Hannes."

Barty nodded and looked at Harry. "Which of yours did you get first?"

"Kreacher," Harry said easily.

Barty nodded again. "Right. So, what brings you here? I thought you'd never leave your tower, Old Man."

Gellert scowled at Barty for calling him Old Man rather than by his name. "Harry asked me to come. So I came."

Barty snorted. "It was that easy? Hell, if I'd known that I'd have had Harry call your geriatric arse to help us with all the fighting."

Before Barty could even start laughing fully, he had been flipped upside down and dropped hard on the wood planks of the porch. A shout of laughter came from Hugo and Victoire, who were both giggling madly as Barty hauled himself back to his feet.

Gellert smiled genially at Barty as he walked up the front stairs. "I may be old, Barty, but I can still put you on your back, even without my wand."

Barty waved these words off with a grimace. "I let you have that one, old man." He grinned. "Good to see you again."

Gellert nodded and looked around at the house and the grounds. "It has been so long, I had almost forgotten what the world looked like beyond my little island." He looked toward the childen, who were watching him and the other adults and whispering to each other and munching on sandwiches. "Is that your boy, Harry?"

Harry nodded, turning as Hermione and Lily walked out onto the porch from inside. "Yes. That's Hugo, and his best friend, Victoire Weasley."

Grindelwald hummed and asked softly, "Would you call him over? I wish to speak to him."

Harry called out to his son and motioned him to come over to them while Hermione frowned. "Harry, who is this man? What does he want with our son?"

"This," Harry said, gesturing to the white-haired wizard, who turned toward them, "is Gellert Grindelwald."

Gellert nodded respectfully to Hermione. "A pleasure to meet you, _fr_ _ä_ _ulein_ ," he said. "You must be Hermione. Harry has spoken of you often." He extended a hand to her.

Hermione shook his hand cautiously. "Pleasure," she returned. "I have yet to hear the story of Harry's time with you, but I'm sure I will soon enough. Now, what do you want with my son?"

Gellert smiled and turned as Hugo stopped at the base of the stairs. He walked down and knelt in front of the boy without answering Hermione's question.

"Hello, Hugo," he greeted the boy, offering his hand as he had done with Hermione. Hugo was unsure of what to make of this stranger that his father had brought to see them. "My name is Gellert Grindelwald. It is nice to meet you."

Hugo's eyes had widened at hearing the man's name. He was so surprised that he almost forgot his manners. He shook the proffered hand. "H-Hugo Potter," he introduced himself, stumbling slightly over his words. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Gellert smiled gently at the child. "Hugo. It is a good name. A good German name. It means 'bright in mind or spirit', it means 'intelligent'. Are you bright? Are you intelligent?"

Hugo nodded rapidly.

"That is good," Gellert said. "Knowledge is power, as they say, and one must be intelligent to gather useful information and use it to even more useful ends. Yes, I think your name suits you very well. Time will prove me right, I think." Hugo smiled at the old wizard, growing a bit embarrassed by the praise being heaped upon him by the Greatest Living Wizard. "Run along now, Hugo, we'll speak more later."

Hugo looked at his parents, then ran back over to the tree where he had been sitting with Victoire, the young blonde hot on his heels.

"To answer your question, Miss Granger," Gellert said as he climbed back to his feet and turned toward where said young witch was standing next to Harry with her arms crossed. "I am here because Harry asked me for a favour. I have, with assistance from young Harry, Barty and Regulus, developed an operation, through which I can activate the genes inside your sons body that produce magical energy. In short, I can make your son into a wizard. I can give him the gift of magic."

Hermione looked sceptical, narrowing her eyes. She turned her head up and slightly back to look at Harry, who gave her a serious nod. "We didn't just train in combat for those four years."

Hermione's frown deepened. "And this _operation_ , it works?"

Gellert nodded. "Tested and confirmed, given that the subject is strong and young enough. With adults, it is quite hit and miss, as the body is too far developed to take on such an influx of power. But, Hugo, he is what, six years old?"

"Almost," Hermione answered, leaning back into Harry as he put an arm around her waist, his hand resting flat against her stomach, the action serving to ease her somewhat, her shoulder's relaxed from their tense state.

"Then the chances of success are quite high. Sure, some magical children display small bouts of accidental magic as infants, particularly when upset, but most, most often those from muggle backgrounds, show there first real signs of magic from the ages of four to eight years. Hugo falls right into the middle of that range. And, as a child's magic is not trained until he or she is ten or eleven, depending on where they are from, Hugo shall have no handicap when compared to those who where born with magic. Think of it, you, Miss Granger, are a muggleborn, correct? You would not have even known of magic until you received your letter from Hogwarts. Did you have any trouble with learning it?" Hermione shook her head. "Exactly. Hugo will be just like any other magical child by the time it comes time to attend school."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "What would happen should the operation fail?"

Gellert met her gaze seriously. "He will die."

Hermione was immediately shaking her head. "No. No. No. I won't allow it."

"Hermione," Harry started, but she cut him off.

"No." She looked at him. "How could you agree to this?"

Harry sighed. "I know that it works, and Hugo wants this."

"Hugo is a child, he is in no position to make such a decision," Hermione countered, turning all the way around to face Harry.

"Yes, he is a child, but he's a smart lad, he-"

"No," Hermione snapped. "I refuse to put my son at risk."

"Hermione you can't-"

"I WILL NOT BURY OUR CHILD, HARRY!"

Harry fell silent, as did all present, Barty quietly slipping into the house with Regulus. Lily looked between the two before moving over to keep the children occupied, the two young ones having stopped their playing to look over at the sudden screaming. Gellert moved off into the yard, keeping his attention on the surrounding landscape and off of the two young lovers behind him, giving them their privacy.

Harry met Hermione's eyes, which were clouded with tears, some of which were running down her cheeks. "Hermione, do you really think I would even suggest this if I thought any harm would come to my son? Do you seriously believe that?"

Hermione took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, then sighed. "No," she admitted. "I don't. But, how can you be okay with this idea? He could die!"

Harry nodded his head solemnly. "You're right. He could die. That very reason is why I brought Gellert here. I can perform the operation myself, but I trust Gellert to perform it with far less risk. He invented it, and he's the one who got it to work. As he said, Hugo is at a perfect age for this to be successful. All of the failures were either because the technique hadn't been perfected yet or there was too much magic flooding the body at once, which happens when the subject was too old. But, we had several successful tests on adults after we got all of the kinks worked out of the technique. And those weren't even squibs, but regular muggles with no connection to the magical world. That already gives Hugo an advantage here. If I thought for even a moment that my son would be in danger, I would not have suggested this." Harry stepped up to Hermione and lifted her face upward with his fingers under her chin so that she was looking him in the eye. "You trusted me before. Trust me now. Our son will not die. I swear it."

Hermione sniffled. "I do trust you, Harry, but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid."

Harry pulled her into his embrace. "I know. It's understandable." She buried her face against his chest.

"Fine," he heard her mumble. "We'll ask Hugo what he wants to do. He's a smart kid, like you said. But, you have to b honest with him. He needs to understand the risks, the danger he'll be in."

Harry nodded. "Agreed." He knew that Hermione was secretly hoping that the thought of death would be enough to dissuade Hugo from this idea, but Harry had a feeling that if Hugo were anything like him, at all, even in the slightest, it would do nothing of the sort.

At that moment, Charlie, Bill and Fleur came out of the front door. Hermione pulled away from Harry and gave the three a smile.

"We're gonna head on back to shell cottage," Bill said to them. "Fleur wants to get started preparing dinner and all that. Plus," he looked over toward where Hugo and Victoire were sitting with Lily. Victoire looked like she was ready to drop off to sleep at any moment. "Victoire looks pretty knackered." Hermione nodded. Hugo didn't look much better in that regard; then again he had been a bit more active than usual that day.

"All right, well, do feel free to visit more often," Hermione said, giving Fleur a hug, which the French witch returned easily.

The Weasleys promised to do just that before Bill gathered a sleepy Victoire up in his arms and the four made their way to the edge of the wards and apparated away.

"We'll talk to Hugo after dinner," Hermione said, heading back into the house after motioning for Lily to bring Hugo inside for a nap.

Harry walked down the stairs and stopped next to Gellert. "All well?" the old wizard asked after a second or two of silence between them.

Harry hummed. "She does not like the idea in the least, but I think she's coming around. She's agreed to get Hugo's opinion on the matter. I can't blame her for being worried. I am too, that's why I want you to do it."

Gellert nodded. "I know. That is also part of why I agreed to do it. Not much scares you, my young friend, but I can see the fear of what will happen should you make even the smallest mistake. It terrifies you."

Harry didn't respond. He didn't need to.

"Harry!"

Harry and Gellert turned toward the house, where Barty was standing on the porch, waving for them to over.

"What is it, Barty?" Harry asked, as he mounted the front steps.

"Malcolm is here with Tiberius," Barty said. "He says something's come up, and he wants to talk to us."

Harry and Gellert followed Barty into the parlour, where Malcolm and Tiberius were standing, looking rather concerned. Regulus was sitting in a chair, tapping his fingers in an agitated manner.

Malcolm gave them a tight smile as they entered, raising a brow at Grindelwald's presence, but made no comment of it. "Harry, Grindelwald, please have a seat." Harry and Gellert lowered themselves into chairs, while Barty leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he waited for the meeting to kick off.

"What's this about, Malcolm?" Harry asked. "Where's Fergus?"

"Fergus will not be joining us today. He's been informed of the situation though," Tiberius spoke for the first time.

"Earlier today," Malcolm said, skipping the rest of the formalities and getting right down to business, "two men came in to the Wyvern looking for you and Barty. They were offering a substantial reward for anyone who could tell them where you are."

"Aurors?" Barty asked, jumping to the obvious conclusion.

Malcolm shook his head. "No, worse, Death Eaters. Or at least the children of Death Eaters. They were unmarked. No one with the Mark can enter the Wyvern any more. I've warded it quite extensively. Sorry, Barty."

Barty scowled and rolled his eyes.

"So, if they aren't Aurors, then who are they?" Harry asked.

"Ronan Mulciber and Theodore Nott, Jr.," Tiberius answered.

Harry's expression darkened. "I see. And let me guess, they want revenge against me and Barty for killing their fathers."

Malcolm nodded. "Got it in one. He said, and I quote, _'Tell Potter, that I am coming for him. My father's blood is on his hands, and I will have that debt repaid. Blood for blood. A life for a life. Tell him his time is up'_."

Harry snorted. "Funny. I didn't actually kill his father. Charlie did. Nott? Yeah, I killed him."

"I think they care less about who actually fired the spell and more about who set it in motion," Malcolm said.

"Right," Harry said through clenched teeth. He stood up abruptly. "Well, just add them to the list of people I have to kill." He sighed. "How worried are we about these two?"

Tiberius stroked his beard. "At the moment, not very, however they do serve to complicate matters. They can move about freely. Neither of them were ever branded with the Dark Mark, therefore they aren't on any Ministry blacklists, unlike you three." He gestured to the three brothers.

"I think we should consider taking these two out quickly," Regulus said. "I doubt they are operating alone, and if they won't be for long. I know Ronan. We were at Hogwarts together. He is not stupid. He won't try to face us with just the young Nott for support. He'll gather allies."

Harry nodded. "Nott is no slouch in the intelligence department either," he said. "From what I know of him, he is quite cunning."

"Do we know where they are?" Harry asked.

Tiberius shook his head. "I could not get that information," he said. "I checked the record for the location of both Nott and Mulciber ancestral properties, but no such luck. As for allies, I'm afraid that that has already happened. They attacked Azkaban and freed six Death Eaters that were imprisoned there. Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Nils Parkinson, Kellen Travers, Thorfinn Rowle and Ludwig Jugson. They left no traces for us to follow."

"So, basically, we have nothing," Barty summarized. "Well, that's just brilliant. Not only do we have the best of the best of the Auror force, plus the pride of MACUSA on our backs, we now have the kids of men we've killed. Bloody brilliant, I tell you. We should start a club or something to keep track of everyone who wants to kill us. It's not easy being this popular."

"Popular is not the word I would use," Malcolm commented dryly.

Tiberius ran a hand through his short hair with a frustrated look on his face. "I'll keep trying to get the locations. It could take some time, though." He started walking toward the door. "Until then, try to keep your heads down. The last things we need are more complications." He gave a wave and walked out of the room. A moment later they all heard the sound of floo travel from down the hall.

"He's right," Malcolm said, lowering himself into a chair.

Barty rolled his eyes as he pushed off from the wall. "Yes, yes, we know, we know. Going to the Ministry to get Tonks was stupid, won't happen again. It was all Harry's fault anyway."

Harry shot a betrayed glance at Barty but said nothing, instead turning his attention back to Malcolm, he said, "We'll sit tight for now, but I'm not going to stay leashed for long. I have a lot of scores yet to settle here and mark me, they will be settled. Sooner rather than later."

Malcolm nodded. "I expected as much. Just try to hold off until we can get more information. One thing at a time, and all that."

"I take it you've still got your old list?" Barty asked.

Harry nodded. "James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Molly and Arthur Weasley, Barty Crouch Senior, Rufus Scrimgeour, Cornelius Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Percy Weasley, Peter Pettigrew, Sasha Savage, Gawain Robards, Rohan Williamson, Damian and Raymond Lynch, Wilson Proudfoot, David Graves. And anyone else that gets in my way. So, Ronan Mulciber and Theodore Nott Jr. and all of those they freed are now on the list too."

Malcolm stood up. "Looks like you've a lot of work ahead, and my extension, so do we. Luckily, all of those targets will help us in the long run. Just remember, killing any of them is like striking the heads from a hydra, cut off one and two more will take its place. We just have to make sure the right 'heads' take power. I'll keep my ear to the ground in Knockturn Alley. Let you know if I hear anything. Good day." He departed the room and the sound of floo travel reached their ears a moment later.

A moment of silence passed between the remaining four men in the room. "You aren't actually going to just sit and do nothing, are you?" Regulus asked, breaking the silence.

Harry shrugged. "I haven't decided yet."

A sigh escaped the eldest brother's lips. "I guess that's the best I can hope for right now."

"Hugo and Hermione are my top priorities right now," Harry explained. "I've been away too long. My son doesn't know me at all, and Hermione...she's still trying to get used to the fact that I'm alive and well."

"Harry Potter, family man," Barty scoffed. "Never thought I'd see the day." He sent a teasing grin toward Harry, letting the latter know that there was no venom in his words. "Speaking of family, I may just need to pay dear old dad a visit, finish what we started back in the graveyard."

Harry stood up. "Not yet, Barty. Soon, but not yet." He turned to Gellert. "I will speak with Hugo tonight. Until then, there are plenty of rooms here, feel free to make yourself at home."

He left the room, heading up the stairs and to the room that he and Hermione had thoroughly claimed as their own.

He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it softly behind him.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of the bed, a book of some kind open in her lap. She looked up at the sound of Harry entering the room and smiled slightly at him, beckoning him over and patting the mattress next to her.

Harry wandered over and sat down at her side, his knee brushing hers and settling gently against it. Hermione moved the book in her lap over so that he could see it more clearly. It was a scrapbook of sorts, filled with pictures of Hugo and Hermione throughout years since the young boy's birth.

Harry flipped back to the beginning to find a moving photo of Hermione sitting in bed with a newborn Hugo sleeping in her arms. She was smiling beautifully at the camera, unshed tears in her eyes as she blinked rapidly to forestall them falling.

"Was it a difficult birth?" Harry asked softly.

Hermione shook her head. "Not really. Magic helps a lot in that regard. How do you think Molly had so many children?"

Harry shrugged. "I just figured she got better with practice."

Hermione laughed quietly. "No. It was still painful, but not as much as it would have been had I given birth in a muggle hospital. I had him at home, in my own bed. Lily delivered him."

Harry nodded. "I wish I had been there."

Hermione reached up and rubbed his back, leaning her head on his shoulder. "None of us blame you, Harry. I certainly don't. Not any more. For a long time after you were locked up, I resented you for it. I felt that you had abandoned us. But, you never knew I was with child and you went to Azkaban so that the others and I would not. You took all of the blame upon yourself. My record is clean, where yours is dripping red."

"I'd do it again, if it would keep the two of you safe," Harry said. "I've been fighting for so long, most of my life in fact, and there's no end in sight. Just when I think I'm nearing the end of it all, another foe makes themselves known."

Hermione frowned, taking her hand from Harry's back and closing the scrapbook, setting it aside. "What's happened, Harry?"

Harry almost laughed at how well she could still read him. Perhaps he wasn't as different now as he feared he was. "Just more shit that we have to deal with. Ronan Mulciber and Theodore Nott Jr.," he looked at her, noting her questioning expression. "Sons of Death Eaters. I killed Nott Sr. in Knockturn Alley the day I met you and Charlie in the Wyvern and Charlie killed Nelson Mulciber in that final fight at Malfoy Manor. However, seems they both blame me for their fathers' deaths and want me dead."

Hermione chuckled. "What else is new, Harry? People always want to kill you."

Harry smirked. "Evidently there's going to be a line."

Hermione chuckled for a moment longer before sobering up. "It's never going to end though, is it? The fighting?"

Harry ran a hand through his long hair. "I don't know. I really don't know."

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Another chapter down. Let me know what you think. Review, please. Thank you.  
**

 **Updates may slow down a bit as I've started work on an original story. Hopefully I'll be able to pull double duty but just a heads up in case some updates take a bit longer than usual.  
**


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